Dry Spell
by starboarder
Summary: When Henry brings his first college girlfriend home to spend Thanksgiving in Storybrooke, his family bands together to shield her from the truth. But to the observant young woman it quickly becomes clear that there's more going on in the small town than meets the eye, and even a welcome dry spell can't last forever...
1. Chapter 1 - Wednesday

Dry Spell

* * *

Chapter 1 - Wednesday

Hey Girl!

Before you start searching the skies for flying pigs, yes, it really is me and I am writing you an honest-to-goodness letter with an address and a postmark and everything. No, I have not gone off the deep end, or been convinced by my very interesting survey course on European fairytales to go native and live some middle ages fantasy. The fact is, yours truly has accepted a challenge to go on a digital detox and as of today, I am going to do my darnedest to stay unplugged until Christmas. I know, I know. Maybe not the most practical move for a college Sophomore just weeks away from end-of-semester finals (and term papers up the you-know-where) but if I succeed I get extra credit for my Behavioral Psych class and believe me, I could really use it after accidentally sleeping through the mid-term. Oops!

Henry is keeping me honest and I'm actually hopeful that a break from social media and the internet, aka the Wonderland of Distraction, will get me a little more focused on writing. My writing, that is, not school stuff. Fortunately, as a writer himself he is fully supportive and started touting the merits of longhand the second the word letter was out of my mouth. He's sort of an old soul that way, always scribbling in a notebook with this fountain pen he favors, which I know sounds pretentious but it's actually pretty adorable. I did tell you we're finally official, right? Well, we're official. So official, in fact, that he's finally taken me to meet his family. Yes, I am spending Thanksgiving with Henry Mills and his frankly mind-bogglingly complex network of relations, friends, and hangers-on. But I should probably start at the beginning.

We left New York at an ungodly hour this morning and caught the bus at Port Authority to Portland, Maine, which is the closest city to his hometown, Storybrooke. I know, right? That really is its name, though, cross my heart. Turns out, it's so small it's not even on Google Maps, a claim I wanted to put to the test when Henry first told me but alas I had already embarked on my media fast. The bus ride was long, and would have seemed interminable if Henry hadn't kept me occupied with stories of well, Storybrooke. He's been so private about his life outside school until now that I was honestly a little surprised about how excited he seemed about going home. I guess I thought maybe his home life hadn't been that great, but it quickly became obvious that wasn't true. He did have a warning for me, though. Maybe warning isn't the right word, maybe more like a disclaimer.

"The thing you have to know about Storybrooke... it's a little eccentric."

Of course I couldn't let him leave it at that. "The town," he said, when I pressed him, "well, like I said it's not really on maps. Definitely not Google maps. Most people are pretty wary of outsiders and you should know you'll probably notice a lot of eyes on you. Just don't let it get to you and you'll be fine."

I didn't really know what to say to that, and while I fumbled for some sort of appropriate response, he added, "Don't get me wrong, they're nice people, most of them. Our town has just had a run of, I guess you could call it bad luck. For the past seven years at least."

"What, did somebody break a mirror or something?"

"Yeah there was a mirror, and a bunch of other stuff." I had meant it as a joke, but his response seemed serious.

"But your family knows I'm coming, they know to expect me?"

"Oh sure, they know. You don't have to worry about my family. They're going to love you."

That set my mind at rest, and I didn't really begin to worry about it until we arrived at the bus station in Portland and Henry pointed out the window at a yellow Bug and the two women standing next to it and said, "Oh, there are my moms." Then he started talking really fast under his breath. "The one with dark hair, that's my mom Regina, who adopted me, and Emma, the blond, is my birth mom and she moved to Storybrooke when I was eleven. All you really need to know is that it was a little awkward for a while but now it's great and my moms mostly get along fine, which is pretty cool. The rest of my family is basically a big sprawling group connected by adoption and marriage and sometimes multiple degrees of separation that I can't even begin to explain in any way that would make sense to you, but I love them I hope you'll love them too."

This little speech made me confused and nervous, as you might expect, so if I was quieter than usual while we collected our bags and went to meet his moms, that was probably why. Both of them are younger than I expected, and much – for lack of a better word – cooler than I would have imagined for Henry, who is many things but could never be described as cool, but they were clearly really fond of him. That I could see at once. He gave them both long, warm hugs and didn't seem at all embarrassed to do so, unlike some guys I know. Their arms were still around him, their faces glowing when he turned to introduce me.

Let me just say this: Regina Mills has a strong handshake. She also has a piercing gaze that basically told me if I proved in any way to be unworthy of her precious son she'd personally throw me out of town. Or at least that's how I interpreted it. If you can picture perfectly coifed hair, very red lipstick, and an outfit that's somewhere between sensible business attire and Devil Wears Prada, you've got Regina in a nutshell. If I'm honest, I felt a little terrified of her.

Emma Swan (yes, again, that is really her name) was definitely less terrifying, but even she had something of the badass about her. It could be that what I found out later is coloring my memory now – that she had Henry as a teenager, had a few run-ins with the law, and did a stint as a bail bondswoman in Boston, no less – but she also sort of telegraphed attitude with her eye-catching red leather jacket and skin-tight jeans and boots. Her face and smile, though, were just plain sweet – there's no other word for it – so I felt like I was being very discreetly judged by a sort of warrior princess. At least it made a change from Regina's cobra stare.

It was pretty freaking snug in the vintage yellow Volkswagon, which turned out to be Emma's, and as we all packed inside, the thought crossed my mind for the first time to question if this hadn't been a very, very bad idea. Henry and I have only been officially dating for just over a month, and what was that, really, compared with the years he'd had with his moms? I wondered if we were just thinking with the brains of two teenagers who might or might not be in love, which is to say, seeing the world through tunnel vision. Did it make sense to put ourselves through all the drama of family introductions when this relationship was so new, so fragile with no troubles yet to temper it? I know these are pretty grim thoughts to have upon first "meeting the parents" but I'd be lying if I didn't say that they gave me pause and really shook my confidence for a few minutes there, as we left Portland and soon found ourselves on heavily shaded back roads, bordered by evergreens that went as deep as the eye could see. It struck me too that I was in the middle of nowhere, headed to a town that wasn't on maps, which was a little too like the beginning of a horror movie. My rabbit-holing thoughts might have gotten the better of me, but then, no doubt noting my discomfort, Henry put his hand on my knee and gave me that semi-awkward, charming little smile of his and I felt my better senses returning.

You'd be proud of how well I rallied. A minute later I was making smalltalk with Henry's moms like a pro, and when he and I took turns at telling the story of how we met – pulling an all-nighter together in the library for our Fairytales Survey course, if you remember – I just had this sense that it was a story we would be telling a lot in the coming days. We both gave each other little teasing compliments and talked about how nervous and shy we were before I finally got up the courage to ask him out, and I swear you'd have to have a heart of stone not to find it totally adorable. By the way his moms seemed to soften, I think I succeeded in making a good first impression.

I'd been staring out at the seemingly never-ending wooded road for what felt like an age, and it had just occurred to me to ask Henry the adult equivalent of "are we there yet?" when I heard Regina say, in an undertone,

"Emma, we're getting close."

"I know. Do you have the... thing?"

"Right here." Regina opened the glovebox and withdrew something I couldn't see because at that very moment Henry directed my attention out the window.

"There it is."

I couldn't see what he was pointing to at first – probably the misty rain didn't help things – but then I saw the tiny green speck of a sign, which gradually grew legible as we approached. _Entering Storybrooke_ , it said in large letters.

"Home sweet home," Henry said cheerily, and his grin was so contagious he had us all smiling like dorks as we crossed the yellow line that marked the border of his hometown. You'd have thought we were entering Narnia.

As it turns out, the town we entered a few minutes later looked about as ordinary as they come. Henry pointed out a few landmarks, promising a proper tour when the weather improved, but it was the people that interested me. I kept my eyes peeled for the eccentrics Henry had warned me about, but the few souls out braving the rain looked pretty normal to me, especially compared to the New Yorkers I deal with on a daily basis. There's a reason for that slogan, "only in New York" and I've seen the proof of it with my own eyes. I was feeling almost a little let down by Storybrooke as we pulled onto Main Street and Regina turned halfway around in her seat to address Henry, as if about to break some bad news.

"I know I said you'd stay with me this time, but your aunt's having a little... crisis at the moment..."

"My aunt Zelena's a bit unstable at times..." Henry started explaining.

"She's... she's just been having a bad week."

"Is she going to be okay? What about Robin?"

"They're both fine, and they're both at home, but given the circumstances, we all thought it would be best if you two stayed with Emma."

"Fine. Cool." Henry met Emma's eyes in the rearview mirror and she smiled and you could just see how happy she was to have her son home. It almost made me regret not making the long trip west to my parents, but not quite. Coast to coast airfares are a bitch, am I right?

* * *

Emma dropped Regina off at her house, a pretty sweet white mansion with pillars – turns out she's the mayor – and the rest of us pulled up a few minutes later in front of an equally impressive three-story Victorian. Turns out Emma's the sheriff. I was definitely thinking I could get used to a town run by women, eccentrics be damned, and then just as we were getting out of the car, the front door opened and out stepped – and I kid you not – a dark-haired, black leather-clad, eyeliner-wearing man with a hook. Yeah. A hook. I tried my best not to stare, but I don't think I succeeded. I might have stood there for ages, frozen and tongue-tied, pondering whether a simple hello would do for this eccentric, or whether shiver me timbers might be more appropriate. Luckily, I was spared mortal embarrassment, and any sense of bewilderment, or even – to my secret shame – fear (it really was a lot of leather, and the hook was very shiny and sharp looking) was dispelled an instant later, when said eccentric laid eyes on Henry and flashed this huge winning grin. Henry barely had a chance to get the word "hello" out of his mouth before a second person appeared in the doorway, a much smaller one, with a very pink outfit. She tugged at her father's sleeve in excitement, begging to be lifted up.

"Look who's home, Love," the man in black told the little girl in his arms, and as I stood witness to the day's second heartwarming reunion, I couldn't help but wonder why the hell Henry had never mentioned any of these people before, who so clearly loved him.

"Well, lad, aren't you going to introduce us?" was the prompt Henry received once the exchange of smiles and embraces and words of welcome was over, and I was formally presented to "My stepdad, Killian and my sister, Hope."

This time, there was absolutely no aura of judgment. Henry's stepdad welcomed me into their home with perfect, almost old-fashioned courtesy, and Hope took an instant liking to me after catching sight of my Unicorn Tapestry print scarf – apparently she's "going through a phase". I might have guessed this current penchant by the small stuffed unicorn she clutched in her hand, but instead I acted surprised and declared my affinity for the magical creatures as well – a true fact, I'd have you know – which seemed to seal our friendship.

My hosts showed me where I'd be sleeping – down the hall from the master bedroom on the second floor, and a full story below Henry's room on the top floor (probably a very deliberate placement, but subtle as all heck, I have to hand it to them) – and I took the opportunity to change into some fresh, slightly nicer clothes before heading down to find Henry. After I was told he was still in his room, I made my way back up the stairs to the room under the eaves. When I opened the door he was seated on his bed with a huge leather tome in his lap and I couldn't help smiling to myself, it was so like him to seize every spare moment to read. He shut the book and put it hastily aside when I entered but I was surprised to see a look of guilt, or at least of evasion, in his eyes.

"What are you up to?"

"Nothing much. Looking at some old stuff."

"So this is the inner sanctum." I said, teasing him.

"What do you mean?"

"The childhood bedroom of Henry Mills. What tales could these walls tell?"

He laughed, but it seemed uncomfortable.

"This room has only been mine for about three years, give or take, so not really the childhood bedroom."

"What wails of teenage angst, then?" I continued, but his lack of enthusiasm dampened my humor a bit. I tried a different tack. "Your sister is adorable, by the way."

"Yeah, she's pretty awesome."

"How old is she?"

"Three."

"You must miss being away from her."

"Yeah, I do."

"Hey, how come you don't have any pictures of them – of your family?"

"I have pictures."

"I mean at school. I've never seen any in your dorm room or your wallet or anywhere."

"Have you been looking in my wallet?" He feigned outrage.

"I'm serious, Henry!"

"I've got them on my phone."

"Really?"

"Really."

"How come you never showed me? Anyone would think you were keeping them a secret or something."

"And what exactly do you mean by that?"

The coolness in his tone surprised me, but it had the effect of halting me, making me consider my words. "Nothing. I don't know what I mean." I laughed, nervously. "Your family seems cool. That's all."

To my confusion, Henry found this so amusing that he started to chuckle.

"What?"

"They would be so delighted to be deemed cool." He looked at me with warmth, and I was relieved to see that whatever strain had been in the air earlier was gone.

"Come on, brown-noser. Let's go down. I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

* * *

By her own admission Emma is not much of a cook, so for dinner we went to meet up with some other members of Henry's family at a place called Granny's Diner. It's pretty much exactly what springs to mind when you say the words "Granny's Diner." Classic old-school diner with a bar – packed with regulars, of course – red vinyl booths, a jukebox, and run by a gray-haired old battleaxe that everyone literally calls Granny. She also runs the attached Bed and Breakfast with her granddaughter, Ruby. A part of me was tickled. Another part of me asked, is this for real?

The first few minutes aren't really worth mentioning, filled as they were with the necessary remaining introductions and polite, nonintrusive personal questions which I answered as brightly as I could. The one thing that did strike me as a bit bizarre was when, after we'd finished ordering, a series of shortish, middle-aged men with varying quantities of facial hair stopped by our table to say hello to Henry. I counted seven in all, and though they appeared to have nothing in common apart from their short stature, they behaved as if used to operating as a group, ducking their heads briefly at the mayor who was seated regally at the head of the table. When the last of them had left, and they were all back in their corner booth near the door, I turned curiously to Henry, but all he said was "family friends" and I mentally added them to the growing list of eccentrics I'd been warned about and had thus far had occasion to meet. I expected I'd encounter a lot more before the holiday was over.

"So, what's new in Storybrooke?" Henry posed the question several minutes into dinner and it seemed an innocuous enough question to me, but for a few moments the whole table fell silent.

"Honestly, not much," the woman called Snow said after a couple beats. Henry calls her Grandma, and he calls her husband David Grandpa, and he introduced them to me as his grandparents, but there must be some sort of connection that I'm just not getting because there's no way either of them is older than his moms.

"Really?" Henry looked around, curiously. "No more... bad luck?"

"Not recently," David said.

Emma nodded. "We've hit sort of a dry spell."

"That's good," Henry said. "That's really good. Right?"

"No one's complained yet." This from Regina, who suggested, by her tone, that she was more than used to getting an earful from townspeople if the slightest thing met with their displeasure and they thought it within the mayor's purview to address.

"We were nothing if not overdue for a few quiet moments," Killian conceded, "but at this point we're all wondering how long it can last." He raised an eyebrow at his stepson and took a pensive sip from his mug of beer.

"My husband the optimist," Emma said wryly.

"Can you blame me for being realistic, Love?"

"He's got a point," David said. "After everything we've been through in this town..."

I felt myself bracing for an argument, stuck in the middle as the clueless, awkwardly placed non-family member watching the back and forth like a tennis match, but then Hope started whining and as Emma turned to lift her from her highchair Snow took the opportunity to say with meaningful emphasis,

" _Anyway_ , we're all very hopeful that this respite will last for a good long while, aren't we?"

This brought everyone back in agreement and back in at least temporary harmony.

"This must be very boring for you," Regina said to me, almost apologetically.

"No, not at all. I just had no idea things had been so bad for you. Henry never mentioned it and I never saw a thing in the news."

"Oh, we don't make the news much here in Storybrooke," Snow said, rather dismissively. "Not the national news, anyway."

"Well don't take this badly but it sounds like you're basically saying your town was under a curse."

"That's one way of putting it," Emma said, sotto-voce.

"Is there another way?" Killian muttered back.

"That sounds newsworthy to me," I said, priming myself for some tale of random illnesses and mysterious disappearances. The sorts of events that might prompt some people to believe in curses, particularly people in small New England towns who were already predisposed to such superstitions.

"The dramas of small-town politics are hardly the fodder of front-page journalists," Regina cut in, dashing my hopes in an instant.

"Huh?"

"I just mean the story of a few puffed-up, power-hungry poseurs trying to seize control of the town by throwing their weight around or making threats is not going to win any Pulitzers."

Silence reigned again for several long moments, and I noticed more than a few of Henry's relations exchange glances, though what those glances might mean was beyond me.

"That's a very concise way of putting it, Regina. I'd never thought of our... misfortunes in quite those terms before." Snow's voice was a study in measured, dispassionate tones.

"Maybe _you_ should take a shot at a Pulitzer." Emma's suggestion to Regina had everyone pausing again in that unsettling way, and I honestly had a moment where I pictured Henry's two moms taking swings at each other, but then Regina cracked a grin and let out a low, hardy burst of laughter and everyone else tittered along with relief.

"Guess I missed my calling."

She raised her glass of Merlot at Emma before taking a queenly sip, and I looked at Henry to try and gauge his reaction to all this, but he just smiled and shrugged, as if to say this was normal family behavior. Myself, I was feeling ready to eat my earlier words of admiration for the extended Mills clan, and more than a little worried. If this was normal behavior, what the hell was Thanksgiving dinner going to be like?


	2. Chapter 2 - Thanksgiving Day - Part 1

Chapter 2 – Thanksgiving Day

I woke up on Thanksgiving morning at what was, for me, a surprisingly early hour. It could have been a consequence of the fairly early hour we'd all turned in the night before – after Granny's we went back to Henry's parents' house and once Hope was in bed the rest of us had hot chocolate with cinnamon (a tradition in Henry's family, apparently) in front of a huge fire and sat around talking for a few hours before going to bed ourselves at about 10:30. It could also have been that I slept soundly for the first time in the months, Storybrooke proving a blessed haven of quiet in comparison to the 24-hour din I have to grapple with in the dorm. Whatever the cause, I opened my eyes around 7 AM feeling bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to take on whatever the day threw at me. After a quick shower, I dressed and followed the smell of coffee downstairs, where I found Henry's stepdad and sister having story time on the living room couch.

"And then what happened, Love?" Killian was asking.

"They lived happily ever after," Hope responded.

"That's right. They did."

"Like Grandma and Grandpa?"

"Yes, like Grandma and Grandpa and Mummy and Daddy and everyone else who loves you."

He tickled his daughter's nose playfully, and as she giggled I cleared my throat politely and said,

"Good morning."

"Ah, good morning. Did you sleep well?"

"Very well."

"Your timing is perfect. Henry's still asleep and Emma is out running, but there's pancake batter and scrambled eggs ready for the griddle, and I've made a fresh pot of coffee. Will you partake?"

I was ready to laugh, it was as though he was offering me whiskey or rum for breakfast, but after a second I realized he was being serious, so I said,

"I will. Thank you."

He lifted Hope off his lap and onto the floor where she settled comfortably with some toys, and went to the kitchen where he poured me a large mug.

"How do you take it?"

"Black, thanks."

"Ah, a lass after my own heart. Excellent." I went over and he handed me the coffee, then turned and began to busy himself with preparing breakfast. Much as I would have enjoyed watching a man navigate a kitchen with confidence, I felt like a bad houseguest just standing by, so I asked,

"Can I lend you a... I mean, can I help?" He was kind enough to ignore my blunder which I admit left me a little red-faced, and said easily,

"No, you're alright, Love. You just sit yourself down and relax."

"Daddy, Daddy!"

I looked over my shoulder to see Hope hold up another book of the "happily ever after" variety and sort of shake it in our direction.

"Daddy's busy right now, Darling."

"I can read it, if you like," I volunteered.

"Do that, and she'll love you forever," Killian confided.

"Sounds like a pretty good deal to me," I said, and went over to Hope. She was a little shy at first, peering dubiously over my shoulder as I started in on the story, but before long she was sitting in my lap and interrupting my reading to tell me, in her three-year-old vocabulary, about her favorite parts.

After all the babysitting I did in high school I'd felt pretty sure I was done with these sorts of heart-to-hearts, but Henry's sister is impressively articulate, and moreover she's just the cutest thing you ever saw. She looks nothing like her mother, but I can see the resemblance between her and Henry, and even maybe her grandmother Snow, but since I'm still not entirely convinced Snow is a blood relation (there's that age problem, remember?) it could be all in my head. What's clear is that she favors her father. She got his dark hair and bright blue eyes, lucky kid, but whether she'll inherit his penchant for black, pirate-y ensembles remains to be seen.

We had just finished the first book and were moving on to a second when the front door opened and Emma entered, her face flushed, her jogging attire dampened by rain.

She smiled at the sight of us, and returned my good morning warmly.

"Hi Mommy!"

"Hi Sweetheart. What are you doing?"

"Reading."

"That's great. Are you showing Cassie your favorite stories?"

"Yeah. She's reading to me."

"That's very nice of her, isn't it? Have you said thank you?"

"Thank you," Hope said to me, her face humorless.

"You're welcome," I replied, trying to match her solemnity. I caught Emma's eye and we shared a look of amusement before she said,

"This is very serious business. We don't mess around when it comes to stories, do we, Hope?"

I took a sip of coffee and before turning back to the all-important book, I saw Emma approach her husband and put her arms around his waist as he stood at the stove.

"That smells amazing, Babe."

" _You_ smell amazing," he all but growled.

She laughed, amused and disbelieving. "What, like sweat and rain?"

"Like perfection."

Emma laughed again, this time throaty and low, and feeling like a voyeur I turned my eyes away, but not quickly enough to avoid seeing Henry's parents share a kiss that was fairly chaste and a gaze that was anything but. If my parents had behaved this way, I might have been tempted to grab a megaphone and announce, "Too much PDA! Get a room, people!" but alas my parents have been in the "grumpy old married couple that just barely tolerate each other" stage most of my life so I've never had the opportunity and probably never will. As it was, I was stuck between keeping silent and pretending to be invisible, or continuing to read Hope's story as if I had no idea anything else was happening, when I was saved by the appearance of Henry.

Far from his usual alert self, he looked sleepy and disoriented as he shuffled downstairs and into the aromatic warmth and brightness of the kitchen. In response to our chorus of good mornings, he merely blinked, bleary-eyed, until he finally fixed on me.

"Did I miss something?"

"Come again?"

"Is this Opposite Day? How are you up before me?"

"We were all up before you this morning, Kid," Emma said fondly. "What happened to our Early Bird?"

"College," Henry and I said in unison.

His parents laughed.

"Alright you lie-abed," Killian said to him, "you can lay the table because breakfast is just about ready."

The mention of food seemed to perk him up, and all I could do was stand back in admiration as Henry and his parents engaged in what to me closely resembled a well-choreographed dance. Henry put out the plates and silverware, Killian piled the adults' plates with pancakes, eggs, bacon and melon (where had that come from?) and Emma made sure everyone had OJ and more coffee, except for Hope who had the Family Special – cocoa with cinnamon. In what felt like a matter of seconds, we were all sitting down – all except Henry's stepdad who prepared a smaller plate for his daughter, then went to fetch her away from her books and toys to join us at the table. As I stared, daunted, at the feast before me, I found myself half-wishing for Hope's portion. How in the world was I going to manage Thanksgiving dinner after this?

Fortunately, Emma read my mind.

"Sorry if we went a little overboard. We like our breakfasts in this family, but you can eat as much or as little as you like." I can't deny that I felt relieved. By some miracle I managed to avoid the Freshman Fifteen last year and I have no intention of starting down that road now, if I can help it. To give myself due credit, I still managed to make pretty good work of my enormous breakfast. We took our time, given it was still quite early and only Emma actually had somewhere she needed to be that morning. No days off for the Sheriff, apparently, but between her and David (the other Sheriff) tag-teaming she assured me they had Thanksgiving Day mostly covered.

"And if anyone decides to stir up trouble while Dad and I are eating turkey this evening, tomorrow is going to be the Blackest Friday they've ever seen." Emma said it so cheerfully that another person might have dismissed it as a joke, but I had a sense this was not a Sheriff anyone in their right mind would mess with. Have I mentioned yet that Henry's family is totally kick-ass?

What more can I say about that morning? It was the kind of family meal that you'd probably see on one of those old-timey TV shows but in this case it was real. Henry's parents ribbed him, he ribbed back. Hope did adorable three-year-old things. All of us laughed a lot. And I got that warm feeling you get when you're surrounded by people that you like and respect and all signals point to them liking and respecting you. It's the kind of feeling that makes you happy and hopeful for humanity and reminds you, to quote a master, that the world is a fine place. That's pretty much it.

* * *

By the time we'd finished with breakfast and I was making myself useful by helping clear the table while Henry and his mom took turns washing and drying the dishes, the weather had improved by leaps and bounds. Henry offered to make good on his promise of a tour of Storybrooke, and I was game for anything, especially seeing how eager Henry seemed to show me around. I got the sense he hadn't had a lot of opportunities to show off his hometown to outsiders, and even if it proved to be a total Snoozeville, I figured it was worth it just for the excited puppy look on his face.

The two of us caught a ride into town in Emma's Bug and she dropped us off by the clock tower (which is also, incidentally, the library – how cool is that?) before heading over to the Sheriff's Station where she was relieving David who, to my understanding, would be busy prepping for the evening feast. The plan was for us all to meet at Henry's grandparents' place around 3-o-clock for dinner, which left Henry and me with a good chunk of time to kill. It was sunny but much chillier than I'd expected as we made our way slowly down the street, my guide explaining the various places of note as we went. I'd like to say that I gave his running commentary my complete and undivided attention, but more than once I found my thoughts wandering. Henry had been right about the townspeople not being used to outsiders. Just a few minutes into our tour, I found myself the subject of stares which were, if not hostile, at least suspicious. It was amusing the first few times, but when cars started slowing down in the street just to give the rubberneckers extra time to suss me out, I was over it.

"Do I have something on my face?" I interrupted Henry mid-sentence.

"Sorry?"

"Your Storybrookers seem to think I'm some sort of freak. Or am I losing my mind?"

"No, you're not. I'm sorry. I was afraid this might happen. They're just not..."

"Used to outsiders. I know. You said." I sighed. "I just wish they could be a little more subtle about it, you know?"

"Yeah, we don't do subtlety too well here." Henry laughed apologetically.

I smiled. "It's not your fault. You did warn me." Out of the corner of my eye I noticed another person slowing to a standstill and I just lost it.

"Hi, I promise I'm totally harmless!" I announced in the gawker's general direction. "My name's Cassie. Nice to meet you!"

"I'm Archie, I'm a friend of Henry's. Nice to meet you too."

The man didn't skip a beat, I have to hand it to him. While I stammered some sort of apology, Henry's middle-aged, bespectacled friend approached us and he and Henry shook hands warmly, before I was given a chance to introduce myself properly and without hostility. It wasn't until after the exchange of pleasantries was over and Archie was headed back on his way that Henry said,

"I'm glad you two got a chance to meet. Archie was my shrink when I was a kid and we stayed friends even after I stopped therapy. He's a good guy. I'm glad he had plans for Thanksgiving or I probably would have asked him to join us. I'm sure Grandma and Grandpa could make room."

I thought for a few seconds about making a joke about privileged therapy kids but something stopped me, and whatever it was I'm glad it did, given what happened later. But I'm getting ahead of myself. The chance encounter with Archie left me feeling a bit more generous-spirited toward the townspeople and made a much more attentive tourist of me, which I've no doubt Henry appreciated. We left Main Street and made our way down to the docks, where his stepdad runs a sailing school for half the year and where Henry has spent his last few summers as an assistant teacher. Sometimes he really surprises me with the number of obscure talents he possesses – he does fencing and archery as well, if you'd believe it! From the docks we went to beach, but it was so cold with the Atlantic wind gusting around our ears that we left pretty fast and headed back toward the center. Young gallant that he is, Henry ended up lending me his jacket, and it felt like getting a new lease on life. Even after a year on this coast I guess I still haven't acclimated, but fortunately for me, Henry was a Stoic in his hoodie and striped scarf, and if he felt the cold he didn't show it. Another added advantage of wearing Henry's pea coat was that I was able to sustain a conversation without my teeth chattering and I remarked that, for a small town, Storybrooke has a pretty diverse set of sights and landmarks. I told him I could imagine a booming summer tourism industry, but he just looked at me funny, like I'd proposed something totally insane.

"I can't really see it, not here. I guess being off the map means we're probably missing out on a lot of revenue, but..."

"Are you kidding me? Tourists would love this place. Isn't your mom the mayor? I'm surprised she hasn't pushed the idea. How do you go about getting a town on a map?"

Henry shrugged.

"You'd have to ask my mom." I could tell from his lack of enthusiasm and by something in his tone – that same strange sense of evasion laced with irritation I'd picked up on the previous evening in his room – that he wanted me to drop this topic of conversation, and like any curious person I was tempted to press him, but a moment later I felt something vibrate near my hip, and reaching into the jacket pocket, I pulled out Henry's phone.

"Someone called... Hook, is calling you. You wanna answer?" I held it out to him.

Henry smiled. "That's my stepdad."

"Seriously? You call him that?"

"Sure. Lots of people do. It's like a... like a nickname."

"And he doesn't mind?"

"Nah, he's cool with it." Henry just chuckled at what must have been a very surprised and skeptical expression on my face, took the phone, and answered,

"Hook! What's up?"

The conversation was brief and more or less monosyllabic on Henry's end, so as soon as he hung up I felt justified in asking,

"What's happening?"

"Nothing much. We'll just need to make a slight detour later on. Killian wants me to pick up something from Granny's before we head to my grandparents' loft."

"Granny's is open today?"

"Oh yeah, open 365 days a year. There are lot of regulars with no place to go for Thanksgiving dinner. The sisters over at the convent do a sort of charity meal for Thanksgiving too, but Granny's is by far the more popular option."

I nodded. "Let me guess, is it pie you're picking up? I saw it on the menu last night."

"Oh no, my mom Regina's got the pies covered. She's a great baker. No, it's onion rings."

"Is that another family tradition?"

Henry smiled. "Sort of. They're for my mom, Emma. You could say she's partial to them. They're supposed to be a surprise."

"Onion rings for Thanksgiving. Why not?" It was my turn to smile. "Your dad's cute."

"He's not my dad," Henry said sharply, taking me aback.

"Sorry. I didn't mean..."

"No, I know, I know. I'm sorry." He sighed. "Killian's great, I like him a lot and he makes my mom happy, but he's not my father. My father is over there." He pointed and I noticed for a first time a gate in the wall whose perimeter we'd been traversing the past few minutes – a gate that led into a cemetery.

"Henry, I'm so sorry. I had no idea. Were you close?"

"No, I hardly knew him. I was just starting to get to know him when..." He shook his head, as if trying to clear the memory. Of course I was screaming inside with curiosity, but I didn't want to push him on what was clearly still an emotional matter.

"What was his name?" I asked, figuring this at least was appropriate.

"Neal." Henry pulled back, looked at me, and smiled. "I think he would have liked you."

I took this in the spirit with which I assumed he meant it – as a compliment – and I was willing to let the matter drop without further questions, but then Henry surprised me.

"Why don't we go and say hello."

As we entered the graveyard and made our way to the site, Henry told me about his father. How he hadn't even known about his son's existence until Henry was eleven years old and they met almost by accident. How he hadn't been perfect – there was some complicated history with Emma that involved a big betrayal, from what I gather – but he'd tried to be as good a father as he could be for the little time they were together.

The gravesite of Neal Cassidy was bare, but tidy. While some of the other graves nearby were overgrown with moss and lichen or nearly obscured by grass and weeds, Neal's was carefully kept and obviously had at least one regular visitor. There was no ignoring, however, another grave a couple of rows away, which all but overflowed with bouquets and made the modest grave of Henry's father look rather pitiful. I didn't know how to ask in a way that wouldn't sound rude, but Henry saw me looking and smiled.

"It's a lot, isn't it?"

Then, in an action that seemed pretty brazen to me, not gonna lie, Henry went over to the other grave and took one of the bouquets to bring back to his father's site.

"There," he said, placing it in front of the headstone. "At least my dad has something now."

I looked around me, checking to see if anyone had seen what he'd done, but we were alone. "Can you do that?"

"Oh sure, Robin won't mind. He was a thief anyway, so..."

"What?"

"He was my mom Regina's boyfriend. All those flowers are from her."

"Wow. When you said bad luck you weren't kidding."

Henry shook his head, his face serious.

I remembered Regina's curt description of the "bad luck" Storybrooke had faced, the way everyone at the table last night had stared at her, as if to contest this version of events. I realized now that she'd drastically understated things, kept the depth of her tragedy to herself.

"I'm sorry. For her loss. For yours – for all of yours."

"Thanks. It was pretty rough for a while. Maybe it's wrong to say it here, but Robin was really more of a father than my real dad. I knew him better and he knew me. He was a good guy. I miss him."

A somber silence overtook both of us, and I found myself ruminating again on the mysterious muddle of Henry's family and its many secrets and losses. It was plain he had told me as much as he planned to about the matter, and though I would have liked to know more, I was touched that he'd taken me here and shared this part of his life with me, dark as it was. Things might have gotten grimmer still, the atmosphere heavier with all that navel gazing, but in the midst of it all Henry's phone buzzed again to reveal a text from his grandparents. Snow, David, and their little boy Neal (Henry's father's namesake, I now realized) were grinning in a selfie obviously taken moments before. His grandparents wore cheesy pilgrim hats, while Neal wore a headdress of feathers that was probably meant to suggest a turkey, but bordered on culturally insensitive. The accompanying text read "Happy Thanksgiving! Can't wait to see you!" Pushing aside any politically-correct instincts, I said,

"They're so cute!"

Henry's stony face lightened. "They're corny as hell, but yeah, they're pretty cute." He looked at me as though just remembering I was there, and smiled.

"Speaking of, we'd better start heading to Granny's for those onion rings, or we'll be late for the feast."

"Can't have that," I said, trying to sound encouraging and cheerful, and he seemed to bite. He reached for my hand and we left the cemetery for a happier destination. Henry didn't even look back.

* * *

While Henry went into Granny's to pick up the special order, I waited outside and busied myself reading a noticeboard pinned to overflowing with flyers and notes. They were the usual small-town things – knitting clubs and book clubs, babysitting services and bridge nights, an upcoming town meeting to discuss possible improvements to the power grid. As I stood there, a headline on a red flyer, now a bit wrinkled and faded after the rain, caught my eye.

 _By order of the mayor! No magic is to be practiced within the town lines between Wednesday, November 25th and Saturday, November 28th. Any citizen found in violation will be punished with the utmost severity._

It was such a peculiar – not to mention severe – notice that I took hold of it and pulled it off the board to re-read it. Henry had called the townspeople eccentric, and I had witnessed a few characters myself to be sure, but did these people really believe in magic? Was Storybrooke another Salem, a magnet for Wiccans and other alternative religious types drawn to its off-the-beaten-path location or perhaps its lore of curses and bad luck? Was this the reason for Henry's less than warm reception toward my tourism idea? The thought had just popped into my head that the magic-free dates perfectly coincided with my visit, when a quiet, slippery voice said, close to my ear,

"Find something interesting, Dearie?"

I nearly jumped out of my own skin and wheeled around, staggering for balance. At my elbow stood an older man with longish, graying hair and a sharp face that was not quite elfin, not quite goblin, but definitely unusual and unsettling. He stood not much taller than I, but the uneasy sense his presence gave me lent him the authority of a much more imposing figure. He was dressed soberly in a suit and tie, complete with a gold tie-clip, and carried an elegant walking stick, but there was an untamed glint in his eye that spoke of a less-than-proper, perhaps even dangerous, nature.

"Forgive me for startling you, Miss Haviland, isn't it?"

I nodded, further disturbed by the fact that he knew my name but too polite to say.

"Cassandra. Cassie."

"Enchanted." He took my hand and kissed the air right above it, like the creepiest suitor ever.

"I'm Henry's grandfather."

I wanted to contest this, to say I'd already met Henry's grandfather and he was improbably young and tall and handsome and called David, but this man said,

"I can see you've already met Ms. Swan's father. I'm Henry's father's father."

"Oh." I have never felt so lost for words in my life. I tore my eyes off the stranger to scan around me, praying Henry would come out of Granny's and save me, but there was no sign of him. I cleared my throat.

"Well, pleased to meet you." It came out high and a little shaky, nothing like my real voice, but the man calling himself Henry's paternal grandfather merely smiled.

"You look chilled. Would you care to come inside my shop? It's just down the street." He gestured with the handle of his cane at a storefront I couldn't quite distinguish from where I stood. If I'd been a child and a sleazy guy in a white van had just beckoned me inside with the promise of candy, I couldn't have been more strongly opposed to the idea. With more vehemence than was probably polite, I shook my head.

"No, no thank you. Henry just went inside Granny's to grab something. He'll be back any minute. If I'm gone he'll wonder about me."

"Ah, of course." He gave me that smile again. "Well, if you change your mind..." He handed me a plain white business card with gold lettering.

"Mr. Gold, pawnbroker and antiquities dealer," I read aloud. He put a hand to his heart and bowed his head in a mock-courtly gesture.

"At your service."

Needing to look anywhere but at him, I turned the card over and found myself distracted by the rather unexpected image of what looked like a wavy knife, or some sort of over-stylized dagger, outlined in the same gold color. The knife appeared to have lettering on it, and I squinted trying to make out what it said, but it was too fine and I gave up after deciphering the first letter R.

"What's that?"

I looked up and was surprised to see Henry had rejoined me. There was no sign of my new acquaintance.

"Um, I just met your grandfather. Your other grandfather."

"Oh, you mean Mr. Gold?"

"Yeah." Henry looked at me carefully, and though I tried to keep my expression neutral, I doubt I was able to hide how unnerved I still felt.

"Yeah, he's kind of weird."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "I didn't want to say anything but..."

"Oh no, everyone thinks he's weird. My family – the rest of my family, I mean – has sort of a strained relationship with him. I don't really see him much."

"So I take it he won't be at Thanksgiving dinner tonight?"

"Not a chance. He and my stepdad are... I guess you'd say mortal enemies or nemeses or... well, you get the idea."

"Really? What happened?"

"It's a long story and not really mine to tell, but it wasn't pretty. This town is barely big enough for the two of them, and if they were stuck in the same room for a whole evening..."

"Okay, okay. Got it."

After yesterday's dinner at Granny's I was more than happy to avoid any further opportunities for familial drama or discord, but despite his reassurances it wasn't without some trepidation that I stood, a few minutes later, beside Henry on the doormat outside his grandparents' loft, wondering, as we waited for them to answer our knock, what new surprises lay in store.


	3. Chapter 3 - Thanksgiving Day - Part 2

Chapter 3 - Thanksgiving Day, Continued

I needn't have feared. Henry's grandparents and Neal (who is technically Henry's uncle, despite him being all of six years old) met us at the door with bright smiles and hugs and welcomed us inside their homey apartment which was already steeped in the smell of Thanksgiving and festooned in home-made streamers and autumn-themed tchotchkes. Snow is a school teacher and it absolutely showed, with art and craft supplies and their resulting masterpieces pretty much everywhere the eye could see. It was a lot to take in, and I was so overwhelmed by the festivity of it all that I completely forgot about the strange business card and torn red flyer that otherwise might have been burning a hole in my pocket.

Henry and I were the first guests to arrive, and though we tried to be helpful, offering our assistance with whatever task might be most pressing, his grandparents politely turned us down.

"Grandma, you're sure you can't put us to work on something? I'm happy to do turkey timing duty."

"Your grandfather's got the turkey down to a science by now, so it's probably best to leave him to it. He'll snap at us if we get in is way," Snow said with a wink.

"I heard that!" David, who was bent over fetching a large platter from a deep bottom cupboard, turned around and pretended to glare.

"What's that, Charming? I didn't say anything." Snow did innocence like a cartoon character, batting her eyelids and smiling prettily. I don't know what I found more amusing – her face, or her pet name for her husband, which was obviously a play on Snow White and Prince Charming. It was actually pretty cute.

"Well, what about the potatoes?" Henry said, trying again.

"Already set."

"Gravy?"

Snow laughed. "Henry, we've got it under control. You and Cassie can just relax. But if you're really desperate, Neal could probably use some motivation to help finish his little project. Isn't that right, Neal?"

"But Mom, I wanna show Henry my book."

"Oh wow, did you write a book?" Henry took up the topic quickly, and Neal's excitement was evident.

"Yeah! I can even read it to you."

"What's it about?"

"Me. But you're in it too."

"I am? Cool!"

"Neal!" Snow's voice was sharp – so much so that it startled all three of us and made even David look up from turkey duty.

"Henry can see your book later. Right now you need to finish the place cards. You want them to be ready before everyone else gets here, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well that's going to be any minute now, so you'd better hurry up. Maybe Henry and Cassie can help you."

"No, I don't need help. I can do them by myself."

"Okay." Snow smiled at us, a little exasperation showing in her face. What with dealing with a six-year-old at home and other young children at school, she had to get fed up every now and then. But I confess I was sort of surprised by the lapse in her good cheer. She didn't seem like the task-master type.

Though Neal had emphatically rejected help, he quickly determined that Henry and I would make a good audience while he finished decorating the place cards for dinner, so the three of us clambered upstairs to Neal's bedroom, the floor of which was still a construction zone for the aforementioned craft project, with card paper in various trimmed-down stages, two pairs of child-size scissors, and a vast assortment of colored markers and crayons.

The place cards were thankfully already cut (I'd had visions of Henry and me slaving away cutting up paper all evening, possibly my least favorite thing in the world) and Neal had written names on most of them.

Snow's card was already decorated with a bright red heart embellished with little lines that seemed intended to indicate pulsating.

"Mom has a magical heart," Neal informed me, and I smiled and caught Henry's eye, which seemed to say, "kids!"

David and Emma got bright yellow stars, for being the sheriffs, I assumed. Hope received a unicorn horn (no surprises there), Henry received a book, and I a smiley face "because you're nice." Killian got the unusual decoration of a pink rose (apparently he likes gardening) and Regina received what was either a leaf or a feather.

"That's pretty," I remarked, hoping for an explanation from the artist.

"Yeah that's a feather for my step-grandma."

"I see that. Does she like birds?"

"No. But one time, I asked her what her favorite thing was and she showed me a feather. She keeps it in her vault."

"I think it used to be Robin's," Henry whispered to me over Neal's head, and I nodded, but this explanation only raised more questions. Why would Robin give her a feather (unless it was some kind of pun or joke) and why would she keep it in a safe? Furthermore, Regina didn't seem like the sentimental type, but then again loss can make people behave unusually, I guess.

After all the artistic touches had been completed, I noticed there were still two cards without names or decoration.

"Are your grandparents expecting anyone else?" I asked Henry. Henry shrugged.

"Hey Neal, who are those for? Is anyone else coming tonight?"

"Maybe my friend Robin." I glanced at Henry, wondering for a moment if Neal was friends with a ghost.

"Different Robin," Henry muttered to me, before Neal continued,

"And maybe the Wicked Witch."

I pretended to be shocked. "The Wicked Witch? Who is that?"

"Robin's mom," the boy said matter-of-factly.

"You know, it's not very nice to call her that," Henry chastised gently. "Don't you think she'd prefer Auntie Zelena?"

"Why?"

"Because that's her name."

"But The Wicked Witch is her name too."

Henry sighed, but to my surprise didn't contest this rather outrageous statement. To be honest, though, Neal's childish bluntness about his great-aunt did pique my interest more than Henry's vague description of Regina's quote-unquote slightly unstable sister, and I was about to ask the the boy what made her so particularly wicked – or so particularly witchlike – but then there was a loud tapping at the front door that made Neal jump up like a jack-in-the-box and race out of the room and downstairs.

Henry rolled his eyes at me as he got to his feet, before chasing down the stairs after Neal, calling,

"Hold up, Buddy! You're too fast for me!"

I would have followed them but I'm nothing if not curious (okay fine, I'm a bit of a snoop) and so when I caught sight of what was almost certainly the book that Neal had been so anxious to show Henry, sitting plain as day on the little boy's bedside table, I had to take a look. I wouldn't have been quite so intrigued, except I'd detected what seemed like an overly strict attitude about it from Snow, when Neal had been so excited about it. In my experience, any mother would be happy to let her son show off what was clearly a big source of pride for him, and so this behavior struck me as odd. What really sealed it, though, was the concerned glance she'd cast in my direction while telling Neal he could show Henry his book later. I got the very strong sense that Snow would do almost anything to prevent me from seeing it. Given this, can you blame me for wanting to read it?

It was one of those books you can make with software and then purchase online and the company will print it and send it to you. Too bad we didn't do those when we were kids, right? I probably could have furnished a small library with all the juvenilia I scribbled during my school days. The front cover of this book read "All About Me by Neal Nolan." Smiling, I opened it and flipped to the first page.

 _My name is Neal Nolan and I am six years old. I live with my parents and my pet goldfish, Cleo. My mom and dad are named Snow and David but they are also called Snow White and Prince Charming. Long ago they lived in a place called The Enchanted Forest but now we all live together in Storybrooke. We love it here! I have one sister and no brothers. My sister's name is Emma and she is called the Savior but she is also the Sheriff. One day when I am older she will teach me how to find people and we will go on a stakeout! I have one niece and one nephew. Their names are Hope and Henry. Hope is not a baby but she is too little to go to school, so I like to teach her about stories and songs. I can't wait for her to get bigger so she can go to school with me. Henry is almost grown up and he goes to college in New York City. I like it when he comes to visit me and we play video games! I don't have a Grandpa but I have a Step-grandma and she is nice! Some people call her the Evil Queen but I call her Regina. My favorite thing is when she invites me to her house and we bake cookies. I have two best friends and their names are Phillip and Robin. We like to play at the castle and have adventures. Sometimes we go sailing on the Jolly Roger with Captain Hook! When I grow up I want to be a sheriff or maybe a king. Right now I am a first-grader but I am also a prince. If I were a king I would make a rule that all the bad guys would turn nice and everyone would have a happy family like mine and no one would be sad._

 _The End._

The book was illustrated throughout with hand-drawn pictures of the family and friends that peopled Neal's story, and though the drawings were not the work of a prodigy, I had to admit the kid had one hell of an imagination. How had he gotten fixated on this idea that his family – his town – was made up of fairytale characters and their offspring? The germs of the idea were all there – his parents' names at its heart, perhaps – but it was all so elaborate it seemed beyond the capacity of a mere six-year-old. Had Snow and David encouraged these fantasies? Was that why Henry's grandmother had been loath to let us see the book? Or was it that she feared worse, that her son was delusional, and was embarrassed for his delusions to be revealed beyond the immediate family? But someone had paid for that book to be made, someone had spell-checked and coached that writing. It didn't add up.

Tearing myself away, I forced myself to return to the present – to the loft, to the sounds of talk and laughter, to the smells of the meal we would soon share. I put the book aside, stood up, and went to look over the railing and down at the party gathered below.

Emma, Killian, Hope and Regina had all arrived together, and in the commotion no one noticed me watching. There were warm greetings and hugs and of course the business of organizing all the contributed side-dishes. Neal was literally jumping up and down in excitement, and with the long-awaited presence of another kid, he shortly began racing around the apartment with Hope at his heels, getting under people's feet as he showed his niece all of the decorations and craft projects he'd had a hand in. The adults gathered in the kitchen, Henry among them, and it all was so perfectly ordinary I wanted to laugh at myself for trying to view it through the lens of Neal's wild imaginings. The thing was, though, I could sort of see it. Neal's parents had that aura of goodness and nobility about them that might, in a pinch, suggest a fairytale prince and princess, while Regina, if she was indeed Snow's stepmother, did have a regal way about her, and though I'd seen nothing to contradict her being good and noble as well, there was an edginess there, a depth and a moodiness behind those sharp eyes that didn't make it that hard to imagine if not outright Evil, at least some darkness lurking beneath. As for Captain Hook, it took no great stretch of the imagination to figure out who among Neal's family claimed that moniker, but as with Regina, I'd seen nothing but kindness and warmth from Henry's stepfather. That said, though I hoped never to be disabused of that impression, I had to admit I'd hate to end up opposite him in a fight.

Eventually I made my way downstairs to say hello and make the requisite smalltalk, but I probably seemed out of it what with half of my mind still fixed on Neal's zany mythology. I confess I found it hard to focus, even after Neal fetched his place cards and we all sat down at our spots at the table and began passing around the myriad dishes while David expertly carved the bird. What would my Fairytale Survey classmates make of this family tree? Would their analysis be as serious as mine, or would they burst out laughing, delighted by such an elaborate joke? I looked down and was almost bewildered to see my plate had been set down in front of me, and the others were receiving or had already received theirs. To judge from Henry's grandmother's expression, she was excited to get started. _Snow White is a fan of Thanksgiving. Who knew?_ I found myself thinking.

When Emma received her plate and discovered it was piled high with onion rings, she laughed so heartily that it shook me out of my reverie and we all looked over at her.

"Who did this? Dad?"

"Don't look at me," David said with a smile. "I was just following instructions."

"Killian? This was you, wasn't it?"

"Who, me?" He raised his eyebrows, the picture of innocence. In the end Henry gave them both away with a snort of laughter that he wasn't quick enough to muffle.

"Henry!"

"Sorry Mom, had to be done!"

"You're never going to let me live that down, are you? Either of you?"

"Nope, never!" Henry said, gleefully.

"Am I missing something?" I asked.

"Short version, the first time – and only time – Emma hosted Thanksgiving, there was a mini crisis with the oven, the turkey exploded, and we all ended up eating takeout from Granny's," Snow explained, kindly enlightening me.

"Turns out, mashed potatoes and onion rings aren't the worst combination," David added, as though sharing a fun fact that we all might like to keep in our back pocket for future use.

"So now we have them every year," Henry said.

"They're surprisingly good with gravy," Killian chimed in.

"I prefer them with the turkey, myself," Regina said, primly unfolding her napkin and placing it on her lap.

"I like onion rings plain all by themselves," Neal announced loudly, and Emma laughed again.

"Me too, little bro. Me too."

Maybe it was the sight of all the food suddenly in front of me, or the enthusiasm and good humor of Henry's family, but all at once I was famished. I was about to dig in with gusto – literally had my knife and fork in hand – when the clinking noise that precedes a toast stopped me. With a not-so-subtle clearing of his throat, David stood up and from his place at the head of the table looked down at all of the rest of us (in quite a princely manner, I must say) with his glass in hand a smile on his face charming enough to warm the moon.

"Now I know no one likes long speeches before food – maybe not at any time – so I'll keep this short. We're so glad you're here and we feel so fortunate to be sharing this meal with you all. I'm sure I speak for Snow and Neal too when I say that we are thankful today and every day for many things, but most of all for you, our family. Being here together... well, it doesn't get much better than this. So if you would please raise your glasses..."

"To family," Snow said.

"To family," we all echoed.

"And new friends," Regina said, looking meaningfully in my direction and taking me honestly by surprise. I smiled with genuine appreciation as Henry's family repeated her toast.

Once seated again, we could finally begin. As I savored the first bite of Thanksgiving dinner, I saw Emma, who was seated by her father, touch his arm fondly.

"Dad, that was so sweet I thought I was going to burst into tears," she said.

"What can I say, I must be getting sentimental in my old age."

"Sentimental?" Snow teased. "You, Charming? Never!"

David gave her a smile that was like a ray of sunshine, and as they kissed – chaste enough for company, but warmly – I thought to myself that Snow was back to her usual cheerfulness, and I was more than happy to dismiss any silly notions I'd entertained about fairytale heroes and villains infringing on this beautifully ordinary American holiday. As fate would have it, however, those silly notions didn't stay buried for long.

* * *

We were just a few minutes into the dinner when David rose again from his seat, evidently to make another toast. He appeared to still be on his first glass of wine, but for all I knew he could have been pre-gaming all afternoon. In any case, he was in high humor, all smiles and twinkly eyes, and he fairly beamed down at all of us like a proud patriarch.

"Another toast!" David announced.

"A short one, I hope," Killian teased, but he raised his glass all the same and the rest of us followed suit.

"To the dry spell. May it..."

But we were never to learn what David wished for the dry spell, because at that moment the loft door burst open and then closed a moment later with a bang, having admitted a very striking latecomer.

You know the expression Specter at the Feast? Well this was just like that. It's a trope in a lot of fairy tales but I'd never had a chance to consider it in the context of real life until that moment. The stranger was a glowering bombshell of a woman, perhaps between 35 and 40 years old, with flowing red hair and wearing a form-fitting black cocktail dress that immediately put me in mind of Jessica Rabbit. Okay, it was a little more modest than that, but not much. To top it off, she wore an emerald-green fur cape and a 1940's style black hat. Slack-jawed is not an expression I usually favor, but in this instance I could literally feel myself gaping in astonishment.

It was obvious, looking around the table, that each one of us was as surprised as the others, and I had to hand it to David that he didn't drop his glass or begin stammering. I guess it takes more than an interruption to shake a sheriff.

It was Regina who spoke first.

"Zelena. We didn't think you'd make it."

"Didn't want me to make it, more like," Zelena sniffed, looking around with something like contempt. Her rather childish tone ruined the effect of her malevolent appearance somewhat, and I was reminded of Henry's warning that she was a bit unstable. Certainly there was something bright and manic in her heavily mascaraed eyes, but it was offset by her pout, and softened too by the sweet appearance of the little girl at her side. It took a little while, but eventually I realized this must be Henry's cousin, Robin.

"That certainly is not true," David reassured the new arrival.

"Look, we even saved a seat for you," Snow added, pointing to the empty chair by Regina.

Zelena harumphed, but did appear somewhat appeased by these gestures of welcome, and after what was a pretty good pretense of trying to make up her mind, she reluctantly (gleefully?) approached the table and with her free hand deposited a pile of what could only be presents, which I swear to God she hadn't been holding a second before.

The wrapping paper was a deep shiny emerald, embossed with evergreens, and I looked around me wondering if I was the only person confused by the appearance of Christmas gifts.

"What's this, Zelena?" Snow asked, politely. "Are these for us?"

"Happy Thanksgiving," was the slightly grudging reply, as Zelena seated herself and placed Robin on her lap.

Regina sighed at what she probably thought was a subtle volume, but in the still surprised silence the sound all but echoed.

"What?" her sister demanded.

"It's the wrong holiday. This is Thanksgiving, not Christmas. Remember? We don't do gifts for Thanksgiving."

"Well that's a stupid rule."

"I think it's a very kind and thoughtful gesture," Snow said diplomatically. "Thank you, Zelena."

Whether it was Snow and David's obsequiousness or the large glass of wine they kept refilling for her, I couldn't say, but before long Zelena was in a better mood and behaving more suitably for company. The gifts were tokens – pairs of socks and mittens and for someone, a pack of gum – but we oohed and aahed accordingly and that seemed to please her. Like a once wild but now tame animal, we watched her for warning signs, but fortunately we all made it through the rest of the dinner without incident. Zelena paid me little mind, and didn't appear to have much time for Henry either, but he didn't seem bothered and I was happy to let others have the pleasure of her attention. Little Robin, on the other hand, was a perfect angel of a child, prattling on sweetly with Neal and cooing over Hope like a favorite pet. Hope seemed to adore the attention from both of the older children, and when all three were excused from the table and ran off to play hide and seek in the various corners and crannies of the loft, part of me wanted to follow them and luxuriate in the innocence and simplicity of their little world.

By the time we were through dessert and ready to leave the three kids had fallen asleep on Snow and David's bed, the food and excitement having gotten to them at last, and they were so cute I would have taken a picture but for having sworn off my phone. Emma picked up her daughter and though Hope stirred she didn't wake as the rest of us said our goodbyes and we all piled into the bug.

Back at Henry's parents house Hope was put properly to bed and then as on the night before we sat downstairs in the living room for a while, though this time none of us could manage cocoa. Henry and his stepdad played video games for a while as Emma watched them. I got my notebook from upstairs, intending to do some writing on my novel, but wound up starting this instead. I have to be honest it was hard to stay focused. I kept getting distracted watching Henry and Killian's progress in the game, or looking up from my scribblings every time one of them let out a crow of success or moan of defeat. I'm no good at video games myself – being raised by two academics more or less saw to it that books were pretty much the sole source of my entertainment, as a kid – but it was clear Henry was a pro. He manipulated his controller with the dexterity of a musician and I couldn't help but think that had he applied the same dedication he might have turned out a virtuoso violinist instead. To give Killian due credit, though, he really put Henry through his paces, nimbly operating some sort of MacGyvered joystick with remarkable ease. But before long I was watching Emma, watching them. There was a stillness in her that drew my attention more forcefully than the blasts and zippy sounds of the game. I wish I knew how to describe the look of utter contentment on her face. It was ineffable, transcendent, almost. And it didn't vanish when Killian at last threw in the towel and joined her, sliding in next to her on the loveseat, his arm going around her like it belonged there. You could just see how much this dry spell meant to them both, the peace it had brought them. It made me all the more curious about the nature of the bad luck they had endured. They had the look of war-weary soldiers, or of those heroes in the old Epics that have to battle with dragons and quest after sacred chalices before they can win their happiness.

"I went to see Dad, today," Henry said out of the blue, interrupting my seriously odd musings.

"Oh?" Emma said.

"It looked nice, the site. Tidy."

"I'm afraid I can't take credit for that."

"That's okay. I figured it was probably Grandpa. I mean, you know, other Grandpa."

"I'm sure you're right."

"I took some flowers from Robin. I don't think he'd mind, but maybe don't tell Mom?"

"Don't worry. Your secret's safe with us."

Henry smiled, and then for a moment I couldn't figure out what had happened, only that it was suddenly very quiet. It struck me after a few seconds that of course he'd turned off the game. I wondered if it was serious conversation time, and looked at my hosts' faces for some sign of concern, but they remained calm and seemingly content, not at all thrown for a loop or in any way disturbed by this choice of topic. Clearly Emma had long since made peace with Henry's father's passing.

"She's okay, right? Mom. Regina."

"Of course she is."

"Only I thought, with everything happening with Zelena..."

"I'm sure it hasn't been easy. It never is with the two of them, but your mother's made of strong stuff." Henry and Emma exchanged a knowing flicker, but I could see him trying to be satisfied with this and failing. Apparently Emma saw it too, because she added,

"But if you're worried you should ask her."

"I know, but you know what she's like."

"Or ask your grandmother. I think Regina has always seen Snow as more of a confidante than me."

"You're probably right."

"You worry too much, Henry," Emma murmured.

"That's alright, lad," Killian reassured him. "You take after Bae. After your father. He worried for his parents too."

I was startled by the news that Killian had apparently known Henry's father, and been fond of him, if his tone was anything to go by.

"Just don't let it get to you too much. You're too young. Leave the worrying to us old folks, okay?"

"Hey, speak for yourself, Swan!"

Emma immediately shifted from fond mother to long-suffering wife. "Says mister tricentennial over here," she retorted, rolling her eyes.

Henry and Killian both laughed at what was clearly an inside joke – I personally wouldn't put Henry's stepdad a day over forty – and when Emma joined them it had the effect of steering the mood in a lighter direction.

Henry's parents eventually retired to bed, leaving Henry and me downstairs and alone for the first time in what felt like ages. It wouldn't take a genius to guess what types of shenanigans were on my mind, so after kissing for a while, I made the not-so-bold suggestion that we continue this upstairs in Henry's room. He immediately withdrew from me shaking his head. Now forgive me if this is too much information, but he's never put me off before so suffice it to say that I was a little shocked and more than a little dismayed.

"I'm sorry. I think I'm just going to turn in early. Don't be mad."

"I'm not mad. I just thought we might go up to your room and... you know...enjoy our alone time."

"I know. Can I take a rain check until tomorrow?"

I adopted a hurt tone. "Fine, I suppose."

"I'll make it worth your while. I promise."

"I'll hold you to that."

I tried not to take it to heart, but I was feeling pretty hangdog as Henry and I said goodnight and I made my way to the guest room and sat alone on the bed. It had been a long and at times weird day and it would have been a comfort to end it in loving intimacy, but it seemed the longer we stayed in Storybrooke, the more I felt Henry retreating from me, slipping off to a place I longed to reach, but one that was ever elusive and unknowable. The more I learned of Henry's past, the less I felt I understood, and despite his family's friendliness toward me, in my mind they were becoming more and more enigmatic. Nothing about them or the town seemed to fit together in any way that made sense and every time I thought I'd assembled some of the pieces, some other new piece of information came along and tore it all apart again. I started writing to you partially in the hope that setting it all down would help arrange it somehow in my mind, but after a good couple of hours recording all I could recall of my impressions and experiences since my arrival, I was no closer to making sense of it than I'd been when I began. I remember thinking, in the moments before I fell asleep, that I was looking forward to going back to New York, where life might be crazy but at least I knew where I fit in and Henry would go back to being my Henry and all would be right with the world again.


	4. Chapter 4 - Black Friday - Part 1

Chapter 4 – Black Friday

I was woken from a sound sleep sometime after 2 AM by a pounding noise that startled me into fully alert wakefulness and set my heart hammering. There's the knocking sound that someone makes when they're showing up to a party or casually dropping in on an acquaintance, and then there's the sound that says "open up for the love of God, all hell is breaking loose!" The sound that woke me was of the latter variety, and it was coming from the front door downstairs. I sat up in bed, and when it didn't stop, I got up. I opened my door just in time to see Henry's parents hurry past me to the end of the hall and down the stairs. I heard the creak of the front door opening, and then urgent voices, but I couldn't make out what they were saying. Of course I was burning with curiosity, but it didn't seem appropriate to intrude, so I stood there in the doorway in an agony of suspense, straining my ears, until I heard a sound at my shoulder and there was Henry. He'd crept down from his room quiet as a mouse.

"Hey, what's going on?" he whispered.

"No idea. Someone's at the door. Your parents are talking to them."

"Well what are we standing here for?"

I needed no further prompting. We both went to the top of the stairs, sat down on the step, and peered through the bannister bars like children eavesdropping on matters beyond their comprehension, except we weren't children, and it was immediately obvious that this was no trifling matter.

"What do you mean it stopped? When? Just now?" Emma was asking.

"No, it was at 8:15. That's what the hands say." Though Henry's parents partially blocked my field of vision, I recognized David's voice, low and intent.

"The curse time?"

"Exactly."

"8:15 last night? Yesterday morning?"

"No one knows.

"But this... this... aurora? This began tonight?" Killian asked.

"As far as I can tell."

"That's no aurora. That's magic." The words sounded like nonsense, like a child's story when spoken together, but something in the way Emma said them, like magic had a capital M, sent a thrill of fear through me, and I shivered. She wasn't speaking of a showman's trick, pulling a rabbit out of a hat, or even Houdini escaping a water tank in a straight-jacket. She meant power, forces beyond an ordinary person's ability to control. Something volatile. Something dangerous.

"That's why I'm here. We need you, Emma. Your mother is getting Regina, and if we have to, we'll contact Gold. But right now, let's keep this between just our immediate family, okay?"

"If we know, then the Crocodile knows. You can be sure of that," Killian's tone was darkly meaningful, though the meaning itself escaped me.

"Maybe so," David acknowledged, "but I for one prefer to steer clear of him for now."

"Can't argue with that, Mate."

"If the clock stopped and there's magic billowing in the sky, that could mean another curse, right?" Emma asked.

"Right now, none of us knows what this means."

"What can I do?" Killian wanted to know.

"I'm heading to the town line, going to check out if there's anything happening there. I could use some backup."

"Right you are."

"I don't have to tell you to bring your sword."

"Wouldn't dream of going without it."

"What about the kids?" Emma asked, urgently.

"Zelena can watch them. She can protect them if need be."

"Are you sure that's a good idea? You saw her this evening. How do we know she won't turn on them in a split second if the mood takes her?"

"She'd give her life for her daughter, and luckily Robin adores Hope."

"If we could just be sure Zelena would extend that same sacrifice for Henry and Cassie..."

Next to me, Henry rose to his feet.

"We can take care of ourselves."

The adults turned toward the sound of his voice, and as I stood and followed Henry down the stairs, I saw the various emotions of surprise, irritation, relief and pride flutter across the faces of his family.

"Henry!" Emma said, and we went over to join them.

"How much did you hear?"

"Pretty much everything." Henry didn't even look sheepish, and if I was expecting anger from his family, I didn't get it.

Emma took a deep breath, then said,

"Okay."

"Mom, you know I want to help. We both do," he said, glancing at me, and I nodded quickly without having the slightest idea what I was agreeing to.

"The most helpful thing you can do right now is to stay safe," David said, and I swear I could see Henry deflate.

"He's right. Henry, I need you to take your sister and Cassie to Regina's and stay there. Zelena can protect you. We don't know what we're dealing with yet and until we do, I need you kids out of harm's way. Please."

"And what am I supposed to do there? Just sit tight while all of you risk your lives? Again? I'm not a kid anymore. What's it going to take for you to realize..."

"The book," Killian interrupted. "Take the storybook with you. If there's a clue as to what this curse might be, you're sure to find it."

Henry frowned but in a moment he nodded, mollified.

"Okay. But take pictures. Of the sky, the northern lights, the town line, whatever you see. Send them to me. I'll compare them to the book."

"Deal."

There was a second there in which we all paused and sort of took stock of the situation, or at least I did. Here we all were in the middle of the night, David the only one of us wearing actual clothes, talking in what appeared to be a completely serious manner about storybooks and curses and magic. I wanted to pinch myself. You know those candid camera shows that put an individual in an absurd situation and invite the audience to laugh at her? Well all I can say is that I was very tempted to scour the room for cameras and other recording equipment. Despite the odd events of the day before, I still wasn't quite ready to make the faith leap that this situation required. I still suspected a trick.

"There's no time to lose," David said, verbally herding us along. "The sooner you can be ready..."

"Got it," Emma assured him, "We'll be back down in a few minutes."

Confusion must have made me slower than the others to start up the stairs, and Emma no doubt noticed.

"Henry," she told her son, "fill Cassie in, won't you? There's no use trying to prevent it any longer."

Henry nodded curtly, flashing me an expression I couldn't quite interpret.

"I'll tell you at Regina's," he promised, and for the moment I had to make do with that. Back in my room, I hurriedly threw on some clothes and finger-combed my hair back into a ponytail. I hovered a moment over my phone, but managed to talk myself out of grabbing it, telling myself this situation was probably a lot less dire than it sounded, and definitely not meritorious of breaking my promise of staying unplugged. Instead, I grabbed my wallet, shoved it into my jacket pocket and pulled on a hat before heading back downstairs to where David was waiting impatiently, pacing in front of the living room couch where Henry already sat, jangling his leg. Under Henry's arm was the large volume I'd gotten a glimpse of a few days before in his bedroom. Both Henry and his grandfather smiled wanly at my entrance, but if I was expecting an explanation there and then, I didn't get it. David continued to pace and Henry stared broodingly ahead of him, not even meeting my gaze.

"Just waiting on the Joneses, now," David said, not quite irritably, but he looked ready to run upstairs and fetch them down himself in a minute if they didn't appear.

"We're here, Dad," Emma called, racing downstairs. "We're ready now. Hope wasn't too glad about being woken up," she explained, cleverly warding off any potential complaints from David. Killian followed with his daughter in his arms, awake but clearly annoyed, her face flushed and the traces of tears on her cheeks. David looked apologetic and stepped over to kiss his granddaughter on her forehead.

"I'm sorry, Sweetpea. You can sleep again at Regina's. And guess what? Neal and Robin will be there, too. Won't that be fun?"

Hope stared at him, seemingly unmoved, but she clutched her father closer and gave an upset sniffle.

"Alright, love. Daddy's going on an outing with Grandpa, but I'll be back before you know it. Right now Mummy's going to take you to Regina's where Auntie Zelena will look after you for a little while." The little girl did not appear pleased by this news, but just as she looked ready to burst into fresh tears, Emma said,

"Henry and Cassie are going too, and look, here's Unicorn." Somewhat reluctantly, Hope held out her hand to take her favorite toy, and Killian took the opportunity to transfer her to Emma's arms.

"Text me when she's safe with Zelena," he said, one ringed finger brushing his daughter's cheek.

"I will." Emma put on what looked like her fighter face. "Be safe."

"You too." He leaned in for a kiss and I heard Emma murmur,

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Killian straightened up and went over to clap Henry on the shoulder.

"See you later, Mate. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

David snorted, but Henry managed a laugh. "It's a promise."

"Good lad."

"Ready?" David asked, clearly itching to be on his way.

Killian nodded.

"We'll be in touch," David said to Emma, and the two exchanged some sort of silent Sheriff look full of meaning.

"Dad, let me know when you get to the line. I'll try to meet you there once I drop the kids off and connect with Mom and Regina."

"Don't worry about us. We'll talk to you soon."

Emma nodded, that same brisk nod that seemed so ubiquitous among Henry's family.

Killian grabbed what was clearly a sword out of the umbrella stand by the door, and before I had a chance to do a double-take, he and David were on their way. The door shut too loudly behind them, making the rest of us with our heightened nerves jump.

"Okay," Henry said. "Mom, are you poofing us over or..."

"No," Emma replied, "I don't think we need to resort to that quite yet. We'll fit in the Bug. No point in drawing more attention than necessary."

David's truck was already long gone when we all piled into the Bug a minute or two later. My mind was all awhirl, but I reassured myself with Henry's promise to fill me in, telling myself that soon everything about this crazy night would make sense. If only that had proved true. We pulled up soon after in front of Regina's imposing home, and as we made our way up the front walk, Zelena herself, dressed in a huge fluffy green sweater and super skinny black jeans, her makeup immaculate, opened the door to us.

"Hi," Emma said, not friendly but not abrasive.

"Hi," Zelena replied, similarly cautious.

"I really appreciate this, Zelena. I mean it."

Zelena shrugged. "Robin will enjoy the company."

"You'll let me know if anything happens? Anything."

"Of course."

Emma's goodbyes were swift, as though to linger might open the door to too much emotion. Emotion none of us had time for at the present.

"Bye Baby," she whispered to Hope as she handed her over to Henry. "Mommy will be back soon." Hope didn't cry, but she sniffled and breathed a long, hiccuping breath, clutching her unicorn fiercely in one hand, her other fingers digging into Henry's shoulder.

Henry and his mother exchanged a look.

"Is this where you tell me to be good?" he asked, provoking a smile from Emma.

"I think we're past that, don't you?"

"Be careful."

"I'll do my best."

"Love you, Mom."

"I love you too, Kid."

Emma offered me a smile that could have meant anything, and it hovered in my mind as we watched her head back out to the street, get in her yellow Bug and drive off. Zelena showed us inside and we followed her upstairs to Robin's room where the other kids were sleeping. Neal and Robin didn't so much as stir as the rest of us entered, and as on the evening before – only hours ago, though it already felt like days – I found myself wishing I could share in their innocence. There was a small child's bed ready for Hope, and to our relief she offered no protest when Henry set her down, pulled off her shoes and tucked her in, promising he'd be no more than a room away. That feat accomplished, Zelena pretty much left us on our own with the words,

"Henry knows where everything is. I'll be downstairs."

When Zelena had disappeared, Henry lead me down the hall from the kids' room and through another door. He turned on the light to reveal a blue-painted kid's bedroom clearly belonging to a boy. Once inside, he shut the door behind us and by unspoken agreement we went over to sit on the bed. As I ran my hand along the patterned quilt, I said,

"So this was your bedroom?"

"Yeah."

"It's... cute."

Henry chuckled, despite the night's otherwise somber tone. "You get to see my style circa age ten."

"Big Star Wars fan, I gather."

"Yeah, I guess not much has changed, huh?"

"I like it."

"It's weird being here, to be honest. This hasn't been my room in over eight years. Since I moved in with Emma and my grandparents."

"Wait, so you just stopped living with Regina?"

"It's complicated, but there came a point where I just couldn't be with her." He paused, searching for the words. "I stopped trusting her. Didn't believe she loved me. So I moved in with Snow and David, and Emma was living with them at the time, so we were all nice and cozy in the loft for a while. Anyway, some stuff happened and my mom and I ended up in New York for a year. But we came back and after Neal was born Emma and Killian started dating and then some more stuff happened and later they got their house and I pretty much lived there after that."

"Your mom Regina never changed it, though?"

"What?"

"Your room."

"No, clearly not. I think maybe she hoped that one day I would come back."

"But you never did."  
"I do love her, you know. I'm not angry anymore. She did her best, when it was just the two of us. But it took a while until I could forgive her. Really forgive her. And when I finally did it wasn't a decision, it had just happened while I was dealing with other stuff, living my life. But I was happy living with my other mom. So... yeah. I never came back."

He didn't look sad, but something made me reach out and take his hand, some impulse perhaps to connect with that little boy, whose childhood had been so different from my own. His had been a childhood filled with upheaval and family tensions. My own squabbling, crunchy, earnest, academic parents suddenly seemed so tame by comparison and I felt a wave of longing for them, a homesickness that was probably born more out of a desire to be returned to normality than despair at my separation from them. Henry's voice brought me back to the present.

"But this isn't the story I promised you, is it?"

I smiled in what I hoped was an encouraging way, gave him my very best 'I'm listening' face and settled in for what was sure to be something extraordinary.

"Cassie," he began, "I don't know how much you've already pieced together, or what ideas or guesses you might have, but I'm pretty sure you read Neal's book last night..."

"How did you know?"

"What else would you have been doing for so long in the loft yesterday?"

"Fair enough."

"Well, I'm not positive about what it says but I'm guessing it contains some family history, at least."

I didn't know how to respond, so I said nothing.

"This book contains the rest. Everything in here, every one of the stories, is true." He left go of my hand, reached beside him, and handed the huge leather-bound tome to me. At last I had a chance to read its cover properly. _Once Upon a Time_ , it said, in large, ornate letters.

"Do you want me to read this?"

"If you like. Or I can give you the abridged version. The highlights. The parts that pertain just to me and my family."

"Okay."

I'm not even going to attempt to transcribe the tale Henry told me in the hour that followed. I'll just note the salient bits here so everything that happened afterwards has context. According to Henry, everything Neal had written in his book was factual. The characters we all know as Snow White and Prince Charming did live happily ever after just like the stories told us, but the ever after part was wrong. They were happy for a time. They married, and Snow quickly fell pregnant, but the character known as the Evil Queen didn't perish. In fact she showed up at the wedding and vowed revenge. The day Snow gave birth to a daughter, Emma, the Queen cast a curse that sent the kingdom and all its inhabitants to a land without magic – a town called Storybrooke. Emma was spared the effects of curse by being transported away at the last moment through a magic wardrobe, which meant she grew up an orphan in the foster system while her parents were trapped in Storybrooke, frozen in time for 28 years with no memory of their past life in the Enchanted Forest. Emma had Henry, and then, unaware of his parentage, the Evil Queen, real name Regina, adopted him through a deal she made with Mr. Gold, his biological grandfather who also happens to be Rumplestiltskin. I know this all sounds ludicrous, but bear with me. How Henry worked out the truth – that his adoptive mother was an evil fairytale character who'd created a fake world full of amnesiacs to live out her dream of revenge – I don't fully understand, but somehow little ten-year-old Henry escaped and made his way to Boston where he tracked down Emma and convinced her to follow him back to Maine. Long story short, she broke the curse which reluctantly made her a believer and reunited her with her parents. Through a series of adventures and misadventures, she learned to use magic, met and fell in love with none other than Captain Hook, the fearsome pirate a.k.a. Henry's now-stepdad, and a few years ago had her second child. In that time, Regina gradually found her way over to the side of good and to a more healthy relationship with both Henry and her stepchild, Snow. Snow and David had Neal and decided to build their life in Storybrooke with their new family. The only odd ones out of this otherwise happy tale are Zelena, who still has a love-hate relationship with Regina that I don't fully know the details of, and Gold, who has made too many wrong choices to be fully welcomed into the family. Now if that doesn't make your head spin, I've lost my touch.

To say my own was left spinning after Henry finished is an understatement. He looked at me for a long time, clearly waiting for me to respond in some way, but I was frankly lost for words. To say I believed everything would have been a lie, but I didn't want to disappoint him, for fear of provoking someone I trusted far less, like Zelena, to take some sort of action. I was momentarily spared a reply by the sound of Henry's phone buzzing. Killian had sent him a few pictures. They were mostly dark, but faint purple light could be seen like waves of a violet aurora. A minute later, a text came from Emma that said, _All at town line. Can't cross. No answers yet._

It was all too much, and I soon excused myself for a glass of water and left Henry on the bed, his head buried in the storybook, looking for clues that could help his family. As I made my way downstairs to the kitchen, I caught sight of the front door and toyed with the idea of making a break for it. How far could I get, I wondered, before someone realized I was gone? There probably wasn't much in the way of a bus service at this time of night, and without my phone I couldn't call a taxi, but perhaps it would be enough just to find a spot to lay low until morning came and I could catch a bus out of here. If I could just get out of Storybrooke I was convinced the rest of the trip to New York would be a breeze. I actually paused in the foyer to consider the ramifications of such an escape. It would definitely offend my hosts and probably cause irreparable damage to my relationship with Henry. How, after all, do you tell someone that you ran away in the middle of the night because his family – and maybe even he himself – is utterly insane? The strange thing was, I hadn't stopped trusting Henry and as outrageous as his story was, I didn't fear him or believe him to be a pathological liar. Too bad there's no handbook for this, I thought to myself wryly as I entered the kitchen. As I got myself a glass and then located a pitcher of water in the fridge, I tried to think of what to say to Henry when I went back upstairs. I had just remembered the most important hindrance to my hypothetical escape – that according to his parents, there was a wall at the town line that was preventing anyone from crossing – when I heard footsteps.

"Got the munchies, have we?"

Zelena had entered the kitchen and paused, her impressive figure framed in the doorway.

I shook my head and held up my glass of water.

"Good idea. I'm parched." I didn't know if she was being honest or just trying to be friendly, but I stepped aside and she came over filled a glass of her own with the pitcher that was still out before returning it to the fridge. We faced each other, not speaking for a few moments. I took a sip of water.

"You think all this is crazy, don't you?"

Zelena was clearly sizing me up. I gave a noncommittal shrug.

"You'd be an exceptionally credulous girl if you didn't."

"I believe that Henry believes it," I began, articulating a thought I wasn't even aware I'd been harboring. I trusted Henry, but accepting his tale meant abandoning every idea I'd had about what constituted reality and to be perfectly honest I was afraid that in taking that step I might become unmoored myself.

"Look, I'm not here to convince you one way or another," Zelena continued. "But I thought you ought to know something. People who become embroiled in the battles of my sister and the Charmings have a sad history of getting hurt. Just keep that in mind if you are called upon to play the hero."

"Is that... is that a threat?"

She eyed me incredulously, her offended air from the previous day manifesting again. "It's a bit of advice and you can take it or leave it. Although a thank you wouldn't go amiss."

Not wanting to ruffle any feathers, far less provoke the woman Henry had just alleged a few minutes earlier was the Wicked Witch incarnate, I quickly said,

"Thank you."

Zelena shrugged, then to my surprise she raised her glass of water in a faux toast..

"From one outsider to another," she said.

"Outsider? But you're family. You're Henry's aunt."

"Half-aunt," Zelena corrected. "Regina and I shared a mother only. Surely you can tell we're not full-blood relations."

"Some siblings don't share family resemblance, it's not that strange."

Zelena sniffed, but said nothing.

"Why does only sharing half blood make you an outsider?"

"It doesn't."

I waited for a further explanation and soon my silence was rewarded.

"A while ago, something happened with Robin – Regina's boyfriend – and me."

"He cheated on her... with you. Right?"

"In a way, but not knowingly. What happened isn't the point. The point is, Regina blames me for his death. A few years ago, she told me outright she would never forgive me. She did everything she could to make me feel alone. Did I relapse into my old ways? Perhaps I did, and I regret that now. But I didn't know how to move past it. If you have a sister you'll understand."

I shook my head. "Only child."

"We have tried, you know. To move past it. Perhaps we've even made what Dr. Hopper might call progress. But you know how it is... one step forward, two steps back. Like a bloody waltz done backwards, or with the steps all in the wrong order. Lately it's been..." She trailed off, searching for the words.

"Henry told me it's been a little dicey..."

Zelena smiled wryly. "Always the diplomat, my nephew. The fact is, we decided to make a go of it, try again. Be sisterly. I moved back in here with my daughter – at Regina's invitation, I stress – and things were alright for about 2 days. For 48 hours we managed to be civil, and then last week Regina and I both got very drunk and things were said."

"But you stayed. You didn't give up. You stayed put. You're here now."

"I'm not sure if that's victory or stubbornness.

"Doesn't have to be one or the other. It can be both."

"I don't know why I'm telling you all this. How old are you? 17? 18?"

"I'll be 20 next month."

"Hmm." She seemed surprised, but there was no scorn in her voice. "Well, I'll tell you what, Cassandra. You hold on to that good sense. Whatever comes, you hold it tight with both hands. I believe it may just see you through."

I wanted to ask, "through what?" but Zelena had spoken her piece was was now making her departure. I watched her head to the living room, but though I would have liked to continue our conversation, nothing I could think up was important or polite enough to make her stop. Instead, I headed back upstairs, marveling that someone as supposedly "unstable" as Zelena could pick out good sense when she saw it. I didn't know whether to be concerned or flattered that she attributed such a quality to me.

"Everything okay?" Henry asked as I rejoined him.

"Yeah, fine. How's it coming? Any luck?"

"Nothing yet. The pictures look like the first curse, but beyond that it's hard to know anything else."

"So the first curse... You said it stopped time?"

"Not exactly. I lived the first ten years of my life during the curse and clearly it didn't affect me. But everyone else was stuck. It's why my mom looks pretty much the same age as my grandparents. They were stuck here so they didn't age."

"And it didn't affect you, why? Because your mom Regina made you immune?"

"Something like that. She wasn't exacting her revenge on me, just everyone else."

"If this is the same, then how long before we can tell if we're frozen or not?"

Henry met my gaze grimly. "No idea. I don't think we'll know that until we figure out who cast it. If it's a curse at all, that is."

"But it looks like one."

"Yeah." Henry sighed and removed the book from his lap, setting it aside and letting the cover shut with a heavy thump.

"It's been a while since I heard anything. I wish they'd at least give us an update."

I knew of Henry's propensity to worry, and I like to think I would've come up with something comforting but a moment later we were both startled by a tapping at the door. Henry jumped to his feet.

"Come in."

To both our surprise, it was Regina who entered a second later, a look of relief briefly flickering across her face as she saw her son and was reassured of his safety.

"Mom!"

"Henry."

He went over to her, and though he was easily taller, she hugged him as if he'd been a little boy, her hand coming around to caress his hair. I was reminded of her aloneness, and it struck me poignantly in that moment how much she must have wanted to have Henry all to herself during these few precious days of his homecoming. He'd told me she had smoothed things over with Snow and David, and was mostly friendly with Emma and her little family, but I couldn't stop picturing the multitude of bouquets at Robin's grave, couldn't help casting my eyes around Henry's childhood bedroom, perfectly preserved as though still awaiting that 10-year-old child's return. She might have Zelena now, and little Robin, but the strained relations between them couldn't have been an adequate remedy, the remedy she needed. A remedy for loneliness. I felt almost embarrassed to be there, once again the outsider, the awkward guest encroaching upon a family moment.

"Have you found out anything?" Henry asked when she finally released him. "Do you know who cast the curse? Emma and Grandpa haven't sent me any texts for a while."

"It's not a curse." Regina pulled up Henry's desk chair and seated herself as Henry and I returned to perch on the edge of the bed. She looked pretty put together by middle-of-the-night standards, but Regina Mills was unmistakably weary and the makeup she had on wasn't enough to hide the dark circles that had formed under her eyes.

"Are you sure? Because it looks just like..."

"We're sure." She turned abruptly to me, her gaze meeting mine. "How much do you know, Cassie?"

"I told her everything. Well, the condensed version, at least," Henry explained.

Regina nodded briskly. "Good. There's no pussyfooting around this. Someone – probably Gold – did something to the town's cloaking spell. We're not sure why yet, but the effect is pretty obvious. There's a barrier in place again and let's just say David's truck got few new dents in it trying to cross over the line. Your grandmother and Emma and Hook are all there now with him. I doubt they're making much progress, but they didn't want to take a break."

"So what's the plan?"

"How do you know there's a plan?"

"You wouldn't have come here just to tell me you're stumped."

"Well, as it happens, you're right. We have an idea. It's a long-shot, but there's a chance we might be able to take down the barrier."

"How?"

"With your help."

"Sure, whatever I can do." Regina smiled, but something about it made my blood suddenly run cold. There was a dark knowledge in that smile, something that boded nothing but ill.

"When did you think of it? Why didn't you tell me sooner."

"Your mother didn't want me to tell you at all."

"Why not?"

"Emma doesn't think we should even consider it."

"Mom, quit with the suspense, all right?"

"Henry, to break down the barrier... we need your blood."

* * *

I'm not sure if it's in the fourth or fifth Harry Potter book, but there's a point where Fred and George Weasley are old enough to legally apparate and disapparate and they start doing it all the time. You remember what I'm talking about, right? It's a point of laughter, actually, they way they disappear and reappear elsewhere a second later, always suddenly and with great inconvenience to everyone else, particularly their mother. Beyond that amusing image in my head, I never gave much thought to teleporting, so you can imagine my utter shock when – the same night I'd been told fairytales were real and magic was actively threatening my safety – I, Cassandra Mae Haviland, disapparated out of Henry's bedroom and a moment later apparated on a country road into the blinding glare of headlights. I felt dizzy, not as if I'd been spinning, but the way you feel when a car or something else of great mass rushes past you at high speed and you feel sort of off-kilter for a second, buffeted by wind or stunned by the sound. But the asphalt was firm beneath my feet and though Regina quickly lifted her hand from my shoulder (and her other from Henry's), my own hand was still tightly clutching Henry's hand, for balance and to stay – although it sounds ironic to say it – grounded. Picture it, if you will, the three of us suddenly there, among the other members of Henry's family, and none of them the least surprised or startled by our arrival.

"Are you okay?" Henry murmured to me.

"I think so." I can't totally explain it, but somehow it was the lack of shock in the faces of Henry's relations, the total normalcy of magical travel in their lives, that made it all real to me – made me a believer. It made no sense, it went against every belief I'd been raised with, but it was real. The magic, these people, this town. They were all as real and true and vivid as anything. I remembered again my thoughts of the day before, when, despite the illogic of it all, I'd begun to see the characters described in Neal's book in the fairly ordinary-looking forms of Henry's family. Now, with my new knowledge – my certainty – I saw it again. Snow White, a little less innocent than the version I'd grown up with to be sure, but sweet-faced nonetheless, stood on one side of the pickup truck with a bow on her arm and a quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder. At her side stood Prince Charming, every bit as handsome as the storybooks promised, a gun at one hip and a sheathed sword at his other. No more than a foot away, Captain Hook – granted, younger and more easy on the eyes than any version I was accustomed to – crouched on his knees in the headlights, peering down at what at first glance looked like a papyrus or vellum scroll. He too wore a sword at his waist. Beside him was Emma, on her feet but also bent over the scroll, shining a flashlight on the text. She had never featured in the stories I'd read as a child, but she was as much at home among these people as Henry. For the first time a bizarre thought struck me: did all this make Henry a prince?

"Henry, you didn't have to come here. Either of you."

"I wanted to. We both did."

Emma seemed unable to make up her mind whether to smile or glare.

"Mom told me your hunch. About the spell. The blood magic."

Emma shook her head. "It's just a hunch. We could be wrong."

"Or you could be right. There's only one way to tell."

"You know we would never ask this of you," Snow said gently, stepping forward.

"It's okay Grandma. You don't have to ask me. I want to help."

I'm a little hazy on all the details, but the logic behind the spell, as explained to us by Regina back in Henry's room, was this: For some reason that was still unclear, Mr. Gold, Henry's grandfather, had added a barrier to the town's cloaking spell – the magic that kept it hidden from "normal" people and prevented them from entering. The barrier had the opposite effect of keeping all the residents – and me – trapped inside Storybrooke. According to Regina, the seal bore the unmistakable signs of blood magic, so anyone not related to Gold by blood would be unable to take down the barrier. Henry's father Neal was long dead, and it was in this context that I heard for the first and only time of Gold's other, far younger son, Gideon, whose whereabouts had long been unknown. To be brief, he was not in Storybrooke and pursuing him was dismissed as a wild goose chase. As the town's most powerful wielder of magic, Gold was untouchable, and even the combined might of Emma and Regina (both adept, apparently) wouldn't be enough to force him to break the barrier himself. That left Henry, the only remaining person in Gold's direct bloodline. Using blood magic to break a seal doesn't necessarily have to be a gory process, as I learned, but Gold had a reputation for ruthlessness, and as the thinking went, his spell might easily demand vast quantities of blood. Enough to make a discerning parent – or set of parents – think at least twice before allowing their son to offer himself as a seal-breaker.

As Henry rolled up his sleeve and his family gathered more tightly around him, I felt my heart start to pound. Henry himself showed all outward signs of calm, though he would have been mad not to feel at least some consternation. Regina, who had volunteered to extract the blood, put a hand on her son's shoulder.

"This will sting a bit."

Henry gave a tight smile but nodded his readiness. Regina lifted her hand, and with a set of graceful, sure movements performed what might gruesomely be described as bloodletting. A thin but visible stream from Henry's exposed vein flowed from his arm to her hand, where it began to pool in the air. Regina gave it shape, like a water balloon without the balloon, and with blood instead of water. After what felt like ages but was probably no more than 20 seconds, the stream stopped, and Regina manipulated the orb of blood toward the town line and the invisible barrier. Then, with a motion like the Sorcerer's dispelling the water in The Sorcerer's Apprentice, she spread the blood into a thin curtain and cast it at the barrier. Suddenly we could see it: a portion of formerly invisible wall exposed by the blood at the same time a strange shimmering of light began. We all watched, awed and hopeful, as the light extended in either direction, dancing along the wall, flashing and sparking. I inhaled quickly and deeply at the strange beauty of it, stunned and thrilled by this inexplicable, irrational power. The next moment, however, my breath left me. The light had stopped. The wall was invisible again, the curtain of blood vanished.

"What just happened?" Snow asked.

"Did it work?" David added.

Regina shot a beam of light in the direction of the barrier and it bounced back, sending a shock wave that made all of us start.

"No," she replied, grimly. "It failed." She turned to to her son. "I'm sorry Henry. I really thought we were on the right track."

"Maybe we still are," Emma said after a silence. We all looked at her.

"You said we needed someone in Gold's bloodline, and obviously that someone is Henry. But what if it's not enough? Henry only shares part of Gold's blood. He's still two generations removed."

"So what are you suggesting? One of us try to track down Gideon? That could take forever. Or are you recommending another trip to Hell to find Peter Pan?" Regina's voice was so laden with sarcasm I didn't know if she was being literal or not.

"Of course not." Emma took a breath, appearing to summon patience. "But what if we could use the Black Fairy's wand somehow?"

"It's not the same as blood. So unless she pricked Gold with it at some point and no one cleaned it, I'd say it's pretty much useless."

"Well there must be something," Killian said impatiently.

"You got any ideas, Hook? I'm all ears."

Henry's stepfather scowled, but pressed his lips together in silence.

"We're not giving up," David said to no one in particular. "We just have to think."

Apparently thinking involved a lot of pacing and scuffing of shoes against the pavement. Emma quietly healed the wound on her son's arm and we all took turns sipping from Killian's hip flask which contained – you guessed it – rum. No one seemed to mind that Henry and I were both underage, but given the circumstances I figured there were worse things to worry about than a couple teenagers imbibing half a shot each of liquor.

"Hey," Henry said, just when I was beginning to think fondly of my bed, "I think I might have something."

"What?"

"Grandpa has more than just human blood, right?"

"You mean his fairy blood?" Emma asked.

"Yes, but maybe even more than that. Did we all just forget? He's the Dark One! Couldn't that factor in somehow?"

Regina smiled, a slow, unsettling smile. "Yes. Yes, I think it just might."

"How?"

"Perhaps we need two sources of blood, one for each line – his human line, and his Dark One line."

"And where are you going to get that?" Snow demanded.

"From me." Emma's voice was flat. "I was a Dark One, I am part of that line."

"But you're not the Dark One anymore. The darkness is gone," David said firmly.

"Mostly," Emma said. "There are some aftereffects." As her parents looked at her in what I can only describe as horror, Killian said,

"She's right. There are aftereffects. I've felt them too."

I looked to Henry in confusion. Clearly there were big gaps in the story he'd told me.

"You can just as easily use my blood," Killian continued. "I was the darker of us, so maybe mine will be more potent."

Regina shook her head. "I don't think it works like that. It can't be just one of you or the other. Neither of you are currently the Dark One so one person's blood won't have the potency we need. I believe we need something else. Both your blood combined in a a single source."

I'm not sure which of us it dawned on first, but Snow was the first to speak up.

"Hope. You mean Hope, don't you?"

Regina's face gave her all the answer she required.

"No," Emma said quietly. "No, no, no, no, no." I noticed her gripping her husband's hook like a lifeline.

Killian turned to Regina with apparent calm. "Henry wasn't enough, now you want to involve my daughter?" His voice was soft and dangerous.

"Believe me, I don't like it any more than you do."

"Oh indeed? You don't like it but you're still willing to do what is _necessary_."

"Hook..." David warned, but his son-in-law's anger was quickly rising to the surface.

"Look, I'm not the enemy here," Regina said defensively, her own anger incensed.

"I'll be the judge of that, Your Majesty," Killian spat, his eyes sparking with fury. "Because if you think I'm going to just stand back and allow my children to be offered up like sacrificial animals, you've got another bloody thing coming!"

"Hey! Everybody just calm down." It was a good thing it was Henry who spoke, because I had a feeling if it had been anyone else things would only have gotten worse. Like pistols at dawn worse. "This isn't helping." His family looked at him, then at each other, almost embarrassed. "No one is sacrificing anyone."

"You're damn right," Killian said, still talking tough but his volume restored to more normal decibels.

"Involving Hope is simply not an option," Emma said firmly. "We'll just have to come up with something else."

"Could we use the dagger, somehow?" Snow suggested. "I know it's not blood per se but it's still a part of him."

"No," Regina sighed, casting a frustrated blast of magic at the still unyielding barrier. "It's not enough. It has to be blood. And since Henry's alone didn't work, it obviously has to be from two sources."

"Why two?" Emma asked.

"Pardon?"

"Why does it have to be two sources specifically? Why can't it be three?"

"What are you thinking?" David asked, like part of him didn't want to know.

"Regina thought it had to be Hope because she has my blood and Killian's. But what if we both give our blood? The two of us?"

She had turned to her husband, who was nodding slowly.

"Then we'd have us and Henry. Three sources. Both sides of Gold's bloodline."

Regina stared off into space, her expression opaque as she considered this for a while, then finally said, "It could work."

Before Emma's parents and I had a chance to fully process this new development, Emma and Killian had already formed a 3-person huddle with Henry, their sleeves rolled up and arms bared. I took a step back as Regina again drew the blood, in three fine streams this time, and we watched her gather it, forming it into a dark red orb in the air. Henry and his parents were stoic, their expressions tight but otherwise giving no indication of discomfort. Again, Regina drew back the orb but this time she hurled it with a strong thrust toward the barrier. I admit, I expected it to backfire, to come blasting back toward us, the wall once again proving impermeable, but it didn't. Instead there was a sparking and a sort of rippling along the wall as the blood became a thin sheet. It shimmered brightly for several seconds and then the sheet seemed to drop suddenly, like a cascade of water down a window. The light was gone and slowly we all turned and looked at one another. None of us seemed certain enough to ask the question and so, without speaking, Regina hurled a beam of light in the direction of the barrier. It shot forth like a comet and quickly disappeared from view, but not before we all realized that it had passed through with no apparent difficulty.

"Well," Regina said at last, and I realized that I'd been holding myself as tight as a clenched fist and could now relax. The feeling seemed mutual. Snow and David exchanged relieved glances. Henry looked at his parents with a little half-smile that spoke of relief and maybe just a little pride. I remembered his insistence earlier that he not be made to sit this one out, his longing to be useful. This time at least he'd gotten his wish.

The wind, which had been just an irritating, chilling breeze up until this point, started to pick up and made me long all the more fervently to get back to bed. Explanations could wait until the morning as far as I was concerned. Emma healed three wounded arms with a pass of white light that emanated from her hand, and though part of me marveled at how beautiful and extraordinary this was, the part that longed for sleep won out. I was exhausted, and turned to Henry to whisper some question about leaving but the next moment my voice was drowned out by a violent gust of wind that literally ripped the beanie from my head and sent it hurtling through the air and down the road. I'd taken no more than a step after it, when Regina cried,

"Stop!" I whirled around and we all stared at her.

"We don't know yet if it's safe."

"Mom, we just saw what you did. The barrier is gone."

"That doesn't mean it's safe to cross. I wouldn't put it past Gold to have added an additional dimension to this spell."

"If you're talking about memory loss, that only ever happened with curses," Emma reminded us. "And I thought we established that this wasn't a curse."

"It looked like one, though," Snow said slowly. "The purple clouds."

"Could Gold have lifted certain attributes from a curse and somehow built them into this spell?" David asked.

Regina shook her head. "I don't know."

"So how do we find out?" Emma asked.

"I'm afraid there's just the simple way."

If crickets chirped in November, I'm sure we'd have heard them then.

"So I suppose this is when we all volunteer at once to be the hero and risk amnesia," Killian said after several beats. His smile was dark, sardonic.

As someone with an imagination that at times can get quite morbid, I have to confess that I've spent long hours contemplating which Old Testament level punishment would hit me the hardest. Blindness or deafness would be pretty rough, but I've often thought that losing one's memory would be the hardest ordeal to survive. Without a past to ground you, how can you have a future? Is identity fixed, or does a new set of memories – or no memories at all – fundamentally change you? Transform you into an entirely different person, transform your soul? Put it down to my crazy writer's brain, but these are real questions I've pondered, and maybe that was why – out of some perverse desire to have them answered – I made my decision there and then.

"I'll do it," I said. I found Henry's family staring at me, as though they'd half-forgotten I was there. I started walking, but Henry grabbed my arm.

"Cassie, wait."

I turned around to face him.

"Don't do this. This isn't your fight."

"I know. And that's why it has to be me." I lifted a hand to his face, smoothing those worry lines. "You can't lose your family, and that's what will happen if you or anyone else crosses that line and loses their memory. If I forget all of this, it's still okay. You're all still safe. Who knows, maybe I was never meant to know anyway."

"But what about everything else? In the first curse – not the others, but the first – it wasn't just a certain time period that was affected. It was everything, every memory. I don't want that for you."

"They got them back eventually, though. Your family got their memories back. I have to believe the same thing will hold true for me."

"Cassie... I don't want to lose you."

I couldn't reassure him, but I said instead, "Let me do this for you. And then we'll see."

I dropped my hand and turned, resolutely, but every inch of me was shaking. A step away from the border I momentarily lost my resolve and I turned around to see Henry and his various relations watching me, some with fear, some with mouths open. I had moved so fast they were still too in shock to prevent me now. But in Henry's eyes I saw pride, and my courage returned. The moment before my foot went out my eyes flashed to the right and I saw a large green sign that read, "Leaving Storybooke." I wondered if it would be the last thing that I, that this version of Cassandra, would ever see. Then I took a deep breath and stepped over the town line.


	5. Chapter 5 - Black Friday - Part 2

Author's Note:

Many apologies to my readers for the long delay in updating - and finishing - this story. I had a majority of this final chapter completed well before the Season 6 finale but struggled with getting the last bits down. Mea culpa. Because this was well underway before the main story lines in the series were resolved, you'll notice a number of divergences from canon, but I hope they won't detract from your enjoyment of _Dry Spell_. This piece has been a real labor of love on my part and hopefully that comes through in the writing. Either way, I'd love to know what you think. All feedback is much appreciated! And now without further ado...

Chapter 5 - Black Friday, Continued

When I was a kid I had an enormous fear of sleepwalking. Not that it was really a problem for me – I don't think I was ever much of a sleepwalker – but at some point I must have learned about it and from then on I had this recurring nightmare where I'd wake up to find myself alone in the middle of nowhere, having sleepwalked out of my bed, out of my house, and wandered out of my neighborhood until I was thoroughly lost. This fear was so extreme that I used to lock myself in my room, thinking that somehow asleep-me would be unable to open locks, and thus would try to protect myself from the horrible fate of finding myself lost and alone in the middle of the night. This fear had no grounding in reality and eventually I outgrew it, but the situation I found myself in the moment after crossing over the Storybrooke town line had an eerie similarity to my childhood nightmare. A mere second before, I had been surrounded by Henry and his family, and I'd been able to see thanks to the headlights of David's parked truck and a myriad of flashlights and even a lantern or two. After crossing the line, however, all signs of people, all light, even the line itself had vanished. I was alone on a backcountry road with dawn still hours ahead of me and no map or car or means of finding civilization in any way other than on foot. And they were cold feet, at that – literally. I was freezing and lost and every suggestion of there ever having been a town nearby was gone, like frickin' Brigadoon. For a few moments I stood still and just allowed myself to feel the fear. I let it sink in, felt it vibrating deep in my bones, felt my heart thump with it. All I could think of was that I was probably going to die before reaching another town – that's how under-equipped I was. How had I let it come to this? I was on the verge of tracing my current predicament back to some source – my thoughts had just begun to follow that chain, skittering from one unlikely revelation to the next – when out of that cold darkness I felt a hand grip mine, and I was pulled back – literally yanked backward so that I stumbled – and when I regained my equilibrium I was blinking in the light of the truck headlights, surrounded once more by Henry's family, and Henry himself at my side, holding tight to me.

"Cassie! Cassie!" He spoke my name over and over, his voice strained with anxiety. "Are you okay? Do you know who I am?"

"Henry." I wanted to say something lighter, like, "of course I know who you are. As if I could ever forget you, you idiot!" But this night, with its spells and sacrifices, called for sobriety, so I just said his name.

A relieved smile spread across his face and when he pulled me into a hug I could feel the thudding of his heart against me, my own rapid pulse matching his. I can scarcely recall how we made it from that moment into Emma's Bug and back home, but we must have. I have vague memories of Henry's relations thanking me, gripping my arm in gratitude, offering warm, appreciative smiles, but I was running on empty and still reeling with the shock of everything I'd witnessed, not to mention done. The next thing I knew Henry was shepherding me through the gate in the white picket fence, up the walk, up the steps and through the door of his parents' house. Emma said something about all of us getting whatever rest we could manage, and that was that. The adventure was over.

I hadn't been lying when I'd told Henry earlier of my exhaustion, but despite that – or perhaps because of it – I had trouble sleeping when I finally fell into bed in my quiet guest room. The exhaustion went bone-deep, I literally ached, but my brain would not quiet, instead flitting from one mad thought to the next like a hummingbird with ADHD. When I at last managed to doze off, my dreams were populated with images from the history Henry had related and punctuated by flashes of the magic I'd witnessed that night. I woke at dawn with the ghoulish memory of Henry's blood floating in a red orb before me as if seared onto the backs of my eyes and knew I wouldn't sleep again. The house was deathly still, the rest of Henry's family deeply asleep, no doubt already shedding the traumas of our recent ordeal, but I was not so resilient. I didn't know how to be. Instead I crept downstairs and retrieved the large leather-bound volume that Henry had dropped by the door just after we got back. I decided it was high time I read the famous storybook. As I returned to my room and settled down cross-legged on the bed in the light of the reading lamp, I even harbored some hope that I might pick up a few tips on that steadfast Mills resilience and how a normal person with a non-magical history might go about getting some.

I was still in the same position hours later when there was a light tapping at the door and Henry let himself in. I looked up quickly, something twinging in my neck as I simultaneously shut the book in my lap and tried to smile at him.

"You're up," he remarked, coming forward.

"Yeah, I didn't sleep all that long."

"I'm not surprised. What happened earlier would have been enough to keep anyone awake, and I know this is all new to you, so..." He trailed off as he caught sight of the volume. "Oh, you read the book."

"Yes."

"All of it?"

"All of it."

"I always forget how fast you are." He touched my arm fondly and I involuntarily felt myself tense against his touch. His smile faded.

"Did it help? To put things in context, I mean."

"Oh yeah, I got context."

"Good. So do you want to talk about it? Or we could go downstairs and get some late lunch. My mom is swinging by Granny's on her way back from getting Hope, and Killian's making sandwiches, so if you don't mind your tuna melt with lots of little holes in it..."

"Yeah, I do want to talk, actually. I just want to make sure I've got everything straight."

"Okay."

"So... the Evil Queen wants to punish Snow White – your grandmother – and along the way she executes hundreds of people for no reason and then banishes an entire kingdom to another realm and everyone's fine with it and decides to stay there?"

"Well, not everyone was fine with it in the beginning, but yeah. Pretty much."

"Pretty much? What is wrong with you people? Did the curse give everyone brain damage? Regina shouldn't be mayor, she should be rotting in prison. Forever."

Henry looked taken aback, and perhaps rightly so, but his response was calm. "Regina is my mother. She adopted me and raised me when Emma couldn't. And I'm not saying she didn't make mistakes, but she changed. She's not the Evil Queen anymore, she's a good person and I love her."

"Then what about Hook? You're not seriously going to argue that he's a good person? A pirate who spends centuries pillaging and picking people off at will, then one day up and decides to move to Storybrooke and start calling himself Killian? What the hell!"

"Killian was his name before he was Captain Hook, and yes, he is a good person. He is kind and caring and he loves his family more than anything. He's the best stepfather I could have asked for."

"I feel like I'm speaking another language. You're not getting me. Henry, you live among murderers and thieves. Your family is populated with criminals. Doesn't that bother you?"

"I know that my family isn't perfect. And yes, some of them were once villains. But here's the thing. In Storybrooke we believe in second chances. Everyone in this town is living out their second chance, and for some of those people, that second chance led to redemption. I know it's a lot to ask, but..."

"Redemption! This isn't a fairy tale, this is real life! I don't care where these people came from, but here in the real world we have laws, morals, a basic standard of decency! Don't you believe in that?"

"I believe that everyone can change. Be better. I choose to believe in hope."

"There's a difference between hope and willful naivete."

"Are you calling me naïve?"

"I'm saying I'm having a hard time understanding why a clear-eyed person like you would choose to look the other way after knowing what your relatives – your own parents – have done. I thought I knew you, Henry, but... I guess I don't really know you at all, do I?"

"Yes you do. That's why I brought you here. I wanted you to see where I grew up, meet my family. I never wanted anyone else to. I never trusted this side of me with anyone else. But you're different."

I didn't have any choice but to shake my head. "I don't know what you expected but I'm not that person. I can't just put aside my values because you want me to. I'm sorry."

"Wow. I really thought you would understand." Disappointment isn't a strong enough word for the emotion that passed over Henry's face in that moment. It was deeper, something gut-deep and piercing. If I wasn't so disturbed by the whole business, I might even have called it betrayal. But how had I betrayed him? Wasn't it he who had put me in an impossible situation? Revealed all his family's sins and then expected me to look past them?

"I love you, Cassie. I want to be with you. But my family is everything to me, and if you can't accept them, then... I can't see a future for us."

I generally consider myself a pretty independent, self-reliant person, but as I headed down the street in the dank, spirit-numbing fog, feeling cold and hurt and confused and – strangest of all – guilty, there was only one thing I wanted to do and that was to hear my mother's voice. I'd hurried out of the house as quickly as I could, ignoring Henry's shocked silence as I pulled on my shoes and coat and hastened downstairs, ignoring too the friendly greetings of his parents. Or at least trying to.

"Hey Cassie, did you manage to get some sleep?"

"You hungry, lass?"

For a moment at the foot of the stairs I had turned to them, to the Savior settling her daughter into her highchair, to the pirate setting the table for lunch, and all I wanted was to call them out, this pair of frauds masquerading as ordinary, small-town people with their penchants for diner takeout and endearing domestic rituals. _How dare you try to pull one over on me?_ I wanted to ask. Whether I would actually have had the balls to speak the words on my mind will never be known, however, because Emma, no doubt seeing the expression on my face, asked,

"Are you okay, Sweetheart?" And something about the maternal way in which she said it, the concern in her voice, made me long for my own mother with a force that took even me by surprise. With tears streaming from my eyes, I dashed out the door, stumbled down the steps and ran from that house like demons were chasing me.

A few blocks away I slowed down and tried to focus my thoughts, but they were still locked onto the idea of talking with my mother. That was easier said than done, though, because of course I had left my phone behind and after what I'd just gone through with Henry I couldn't face the idea of going back to the house to fetch it and possibly having to confront him. I vaguely remembered seeing a payphone in town the day before, so I stubbornly headed in the direction of Main Street, telling myself that even if I'd never used a payphone before in my life, I could surely figure it out in this, my hour of need.

The problem with being a new face in a small town (or, as I now knew, the only new face in this town) is that you stick out like a sore thumb. I'd reached Main Street and was making a beeline for the phone booth when the sound of my own name stopped me in my tracks.

"Cassandra?"

I spun around and saw a petite brunette woman approaching me evidently from the library, a huge book under her arm.

"I'm so sorry, I realize we haven't met properly, but..."

"You're Belle, aren't you? You're Henry's step-grandmother."

I had recognized her immediately from the illustrations in Henry's storybook. She smiled and shrugged to acknowledge the unlikely relationship. I placed her age at about 35, give or take, but I knew by now that age meant almost nothing in this town.

"Fancy us knowing all about each other without ever having met," she said, smoothing some of the awkwardness of the situation. I liked her immediately.

"Well, now we have, I guess." I stuck my hand out and she shook it warmly.

"I'm sorry to call out at you."

"That's okay."

"It's only that I have this book of Henry's and I ought to have returned it to him ages ago, but things just kept getting in the way, and I thought as you're with him you might..."

"Of course." I started to lift up my hands to take the book, but Belle showed no indication of handing it over.

"How is Henry?"

"Fine." I realized as I said it that I actually didn't know if he was fine. We'd squabbled in the past, but never had a disagreement of this magnitude, and my heart gave a pang at the thought of hurting him. I smiled to cover it up. "Happy to be home, I think."

"And the others? Are they well?"

"You mean his parents? Yeah, they're great."

She sighed, as if she'd been expecting worse news and was relieved to have been proven wrong.

"We don't see much of each other, these days. At least, not as much as I'd like."

I thought I knew the reason for this, but refrained from commenting. It was hardly my place. Instead I gestured at the book she still held.

"This looks just like... another book Henry has." I could have kicked myself, but it was too late to take the words back. I'd realized right in the middle of saying it that perhaps it wasn't wise to advertise my familiarity with Henry's family history, but Belle seemed nonplussed.

"You mean the storybook. Once Upon a Time?"

"Yeah."

"It's a sequel, of sorts. Henry wrote it and he asked me to read through it and give him my thoughts. I've been a bit remiss."

"Henry wrote all that?"

"He's been working on it for years. Have you read the storybook?"

"Just read it today, actually. To be honest, I'm still processing."

"It's a lot to take in. It's a lot for us, and we lived it."

"What's this one about?"

"This is what happened after the final curse. A chronicle of our lives since the curse was broken. Perhaps a bit romanticized here and there, for poetic effect, but accurate. Henry's a gifted writer."

"I know."

There were a few moments where we smiled awkwardly at each other. Belle seemed to have run out of pleasantries and I still hadn't given up on my plan to call my mother, but at the same time Henry's step-grandmother showed no signs of handing over the book or walking away, so I summoned up my courage and said,

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"I don't mean to seem rude, but I think there's a good chance we may never meet again and you have to take the chances life gives you, right?"

To her credit, Belle's smile didn't falter, but a trace of confusion furrowed her brow at my unorthodox disclaimer.

"How did you forgive them... all the people who hurt you, who betrayed you? It's all in the book, what you went through. Regina locked you in a cell for years. Henry's stepdad tried to kill you, your husband lied to you and let you down over and over again. How did you move past that? How could you put it behind you? Because you seem... I mean no offense but you seem pretty normal."

"You mean I don't seem like a saint?" She laughed, and I breathed a sigh of relief that she wasn't shocked or insulted by my bluntness.

"I'm no saint. But to answer your question Cassandra, I suppose I've always tried to see the best in people. Some would call it naïve, and perhaps I am, but the way I see it you can go through life looking only for the darkness, or you can appreciate the light. I choose – I try to choose – the light. I choose to follow the way of love."

"The way of love," I echoed, and though I was saying it more to myself she took it as a question and quickly elaborated.

"I don't have magic, and some might say I read too many books, but every day, in every choice I make, I ask whether my action brings more love into the world. Would we have been better off if I'd held on to hate and bitterness for what Regina did to me, for what Killian tried to do? Probably not. After all, where did revenge get them? Nowhere. Only when they followed the way of love did the possibility of a happy ending arise."

"And your husband?"

"I've made my peace with Rumple. My love for Gideon – for my son – made that possible."

I fell silent for a time, ruminating on this.

"Do I sound barmy?" She asked eventually.

"No. You sound like a very good person. I just wish..."

"Yes?"

"I wish it were that easy. For me."

"I never said it was easy. Love is a choice. Hope is a choice."

I smiled in spite of myself. "That's what Henry said."

"Well, they do say blood is thicker than water. Even between between step-grandmothers and grandsons, it would seem. But perhaps that wasn't the advice you wanted."

"No, it's... it's good. Thank you."

She nodded and at last handed me the book. I took it from her and looked it over, curiously.

"So Henry really wrote this? Not "The Author"?"

"You know about that too, then?"

"Yup."

"This was all Henry. His words, his feelings, his perspective."

"I see."

"I know he can be secretive about his writing, but I think he'd want you to read it."

"I don't know. We.. we had a fight today. After I read the storybook..."

"Especially if you've read the storybook. That was history. A record of facts, if you want to think of it that way. This volume has everything that was missing from the first. This one is all heart."

I opened the book. The cover had been blank, but on the title page was a name and an inscription.

Ever After

by Henry D. Mills

 _For my family, who taught me to always move forward in hope._

Perhaps it was the fact that I'd had so little sleep, or very possibly that I was still traumatized by what I'd witnessed, not to mention my fight with Henry, but when I read the words I felt tears spring to my eyes. _Hope. Love. Forgiveness_. It felt like I'd heard these words more in the past 24 hours than I had in my entire life up until this point.

I've always considered myself a realist, and until now it had been a point of pride. Maybe it's why I was so immediately attracted to Henry – because he is in so many ways my opposite – and maybe it's why I'm so fascinated by fairy tales. But in those moments, surrounded by a melange of fairy tale virtues embodied by Henry and Belle, to name a few, I was forced to come face to face with my own cynicism. I had all but sneered earlier at Henry's description of redemption, belittled the transformation his family had undergone, scoffed at the very possibility of a journey from villainy to goodness. What did that say about me, about my worldview? Was I so pessimistic, so jaded by the real world that I'd I shut out any belief in those virtues? In Hope, Love or Forgiveness? I admit it was with something akin to shame that I looked up from the text and met Belle's gaze.

"The stories in here... do they end happily?"

"I think that's for you to find out for yourself."

"Belle!"

We both turned around, startled, to see Regina approaching us, the strut to her gait and sharp clicking of her heels on the pavement telling us she meant business.

"Regina, is something wrong?"

"Yes, I'm looking for your husband and I haven't been able to find him anywhere."

"He's not in the shop?"

"No, the shop's empty and his car is gone. I was hoping you might be able to tell me where he is."

Belle opened her mouth to reply and for a split second she looked as though she was going to claim ignorance, but then something changed, a thought struck her, and a darkness or sadness shadowed her eyes.

"I think I know," she said quietly after a few beats. "He's gone after Gideon."

"And where is Gideon?"

"I have no idea. Rumple and I haven't heard from him in days... weeks. I begged Rumple not to do anything, to give him space, let him come back to us in his own time."

"Well, it would seem your husband stopped listening."

"What do you need from him? Maybe I can help."

"If only you could, but I'm afraid for what I need only The Dark One's magic will do."

"What is it?"

"As you probably have heard, our town was put under a spell last night. Some of us were up half the night trying to break it, and we thought we'd succeeded, until this afternoon when I found out that all we'd managed to do was to exploit a loophole that gave us the impression of having broken it. Turns out there were more layers than any of us had realized."

"I didn't know anything about a spell. No one told me a word. What was it – what is it?"

I felt a surge of pity for Henry's step-grandmother, hearing this additional proof of how isolated she was. I wondered if she realized that despite her best efforts, her decision to stand by Henry's grandfather, even her position as Gideon's mother, had made her an unwitting pariah.

"Last night a barrier was erected at the town line. We took it down, but now it seems the clock above this very building has stopped, and if that means what I think it means, then we are in very deep... trouble."

"But what does any of this have to do with Rumple?"

"The barrier was sealed with blood magic. His blood."

Belle fell silent, taking this in. Regina and I exchanged a look, joined for a moment in our shared memory of the night before.

"If it was Rumple's blood that made the spell, how could you break it without him?"

"Like I said, we used a loophole. No doubt if he'd known we could break it the way we did, he'd have used some other magic. What we still don't know is why the hell he did this in the first place. I don't suppose he shared that with you?"

"No. He didn't. But I think I can tell you. He did it for Gideon. To try to bring him back home."

"Why would Gold create a barrier around Storybrooke to bring Gideon home? That makes the opposite of sense."

"Because if Gideon returned and broke it, it would make him a Hero. That's all he's ever wanted. It's why he left Storybrooke in the first place. He still hasn't made peace with his past – with all that was done to him, with all that he did."

"So you're saying that this whole mess – this spell, this pseudo curse – is just some sort of bespoke Hero's Labor that Gold cooked up to make your son feel better about himself?"

We could both see Regina getting worked up, her temper flaring. Belle wisely stayed silent.

Instead, I spoke up. I figured Regina had no reason to take her ire out on me, especially after what I'd risked for her and her loved ones mere hours before.

"What do you mean about being in deep trouble because of the clock stopping? I mean, time hasn't actually stopped, right? The spell hit in the middle of the night, but the sun still rose this morning and it'll set again soon..."

Regina shook her head, a tad impatiently perhaps, but there was no anger in her voice when she replied.

"The sun may set but it will rise again to the same dawn. It's exactly what I did when the first curse was cast. Storybrooke was put on a time loop, so that even though it felt like time was passing, it was really just the same day over and over again. If that's what Gold has done this time – and I think there's a good chance that he has – then time is moving differently here than in the outside world."

I thought about Henry's parents and grandparents and their extraordinary youth. I thought about the rest of the world moving on without me. And for the first time since stepping over the town line, I felt a swell of fear deep in my heart.

"But can't we just leave? I crossed over the line last night no problem. You saw me. What's to stop us from just getting the hell out of here?"

"I don't know Cassie, and that's what concerns me most. I can't figure out how you managed to do it and not lose your memory. Why would Gold let that happen? It's got to be a trick."

"Are you sure this is Rumple's doing? Maybe the clock stopped on its own. Maybe you really did break the spell and that's it." Belle's eternal hopefulness just about broke my heart.

"The clock is enchanted. There's no way it would stop on its own. Especially not at 8:15 exactly. That's too many coincidences."

"Well, I can't tell you where Rumple is, or Gideon, but if you'd like I can open the shop and you can see for yourself if Rumple left any traces of the spell behind."

Regina nodded curtly. "Thank you. There's not a moment to lose." She turned to me. "Cassie, I think it's best if you stick with us for the moment. I'll take you back to Emma's myself once I've finished in the shop."

"Okay." I was hardly in a position to argue, and even though it was looking like I wouldn't be able to call my mom, at least I'd be able to satisfy some of my curiosity about Henry's mysterious grandfather. Besides, I still didn't feel ready to face Henry himself again quite yet, though I admit that some of the hurt and anger I'd felt earlier had dissipated.

"Come to think of it," Regina asked as the three of us approached the pawn shop, "what were you doing in town by yourself anyway?"

There seemed no point in lying, so I said,

"Henry and I had a disagreement. I needed to step away for a bit."

"That's smart." Far from acting awkwardly about it, Regina eyed me approvingly. "You're pretty level-headed, aren't you?"

"Sometimes. Maybe not today, so much."

"Can you fix it? With Henry?"

"I don't know," I said honestly. I felt myself blushing as I realized that she – or rather, my opinion of her – was partly the reason for our fight in the first place, but if Regina noticed she didn't let on.

Belle let us into the shop and it was like stepping back in time. The place was dimly lit and packed floor to ceiling with antiques and curiosities. I wish I could describe properly everything that I saw, but I've never had a photographic memory and I was frankly overwhelmed by it all. Belle ended up ushering me to a back room, equally full of odds and ends, but there was a table and chair to sit at and probably more importantly it kept me out of the way while she and Regina did whatever they needed to. I stared around me, but every time I felt tempted to go and touch something, the thought of consequences – magical consequences – held me back. Watch me accidentally hex us all into oblivion just by opening some tempting-looking box, then ask me if I could make things up with Henry. Instead, I settled down at the table and decided to have a look at my second storybook of the day.

Belle had been right when she described this volume as all heart. The first had been engrossing, but this one made my stomach flip-flop with emotion. In a voice that was as lyrical as the first had been matter-of-fact, this story described the ever afters, and this time, the characters depicted were people I actually recognized. No longer fairy tale characters displaced by a curse, these were people who had found a home, both in this town and in each other. I saw Snow and David, Emma and Killian, Regina and Zelena. I saw Neal growing and Hope's birth and Robin's first day of school. I saw family dinners and family squabbles and family reconciliations. I saw Snow teaching and Emma and David fighting small-town crime and Killian opening his sailing school. I saw Regina holding office hours at the Mayor's office and Zelena learning to drive stick. I even saw Henry going to Prom with his first girlfriend, though I admit I skipped over the pages describing the aftermath, not because he'd kept Violet a secret from me (for the record he hadn't, he'd mentioned her on several occasions), but because it seemed too intimate and earnest and pure to read, like someone eavesdropping on a tryst.

It was very hard to reconcile the people I saw depicted here – the members of Henry's family I knew and had come to like – with the fairytale characters of the first storybook. In fact I couldn't reconcile them. Some part of my mind couldn't make the connection, and though I struggled with myself for a little while, I finally came to the realization that I didn't have to reconcile them. They weren't the same people. They were changed people, new people, people who had seized their second chances and held them close. In this book, villains could become heroes, and heroes could become people who understood the real world wasn't divided into black and white, that good people could make mistakes and bad people could be redeemed.

As if to confirm this fresh understanding, Regina appeared in the backroom and interrupted my musings.

"We're finished, Cassie, if you are."

"Did you find anything?"

"Nothing. No sign of Gold's mischief."

"What will you do?"

"Warn Emma. And Snow and Charming and the others. And then hopefully, with everyone's help, get to the bottom of this."

"Can I do anything?"

Regina looked at me with those scrutinizing eyes of hers and perhaps she sensed my change of heart, because she smiled briefly.

"No, though I appreciate the though. What you can do is go back to Emma's and stick close to Henry. He's an old pro at situations like this. He'll see you through."

Belle appeared at Regina's side, looking tired but resolute.

"I'd better get over to the library while it's still light. See if I can find anything before the day's over."

Regina nodded her agreement. "Thanks."

"All the best, Cassandra," Belle said to me. "Until we meet again."

I raised my hand in farewell, but couldn't quite manage a smile as Henry's kind and gentle step-grandmother disappeared from view. I knew her wistful expression would stay with me for a long time to come.

"Grab onto my elbow," Regina ordered, not unkindly. "Let's get you home."

* * *

The door was unlocked and since Regina didn't bother to knock, it swung open onto a full-blown family moment that we stood just on the threshold of. Take one step, and we would have been in it, a part of it. In the kitchen, a radio was playing a familiar tune – that old earworm from the animated movie that caused an international dancing sensation and made the whole world, in a word, happy – and Henry's parents, sister and even Henry himself were all dancing like maniacs. I don't know what surprised me more, the fact that Henry (who to be perfectly frank still moves like an awkward teenager and is about as smooth as a robot) was dancing good-humoredly with his sister with absolutely no self-consciousness and actually managing to look pretty good doing it, or that he showed not the tiniest sign of heartbreak or depression from our recent fight. Hope was giggling with delight, Henry had a huge goofy grin on his face, and his parents were swaying side to side in each others' arms. If I hadn't known better I'd have guessed none of them had any memory of what had transpired in the earlier hours of the day.

"Oh my God, what is that?" Henry was taking a break from being fun big brother to rib his parents who, to be fair, were begging to be teased. Killian had begun twirling Emma, who was laughing in a way that made her seem years younger, and when she was pulled back into him in partner dance form, I saw they were both flushed and bright-eyed.

"Is that a waltz? Are you two actually waltzing to this song?"

"Would you prefer my Mom moves?" Emma asked, transitioning into something deliberately uncool, complete with cheesy hand gestures. Sensing his stepson's discomfort, Killian began mimicking what Emma was doing, and I wasn't sure whether I wanted to melt away with secondhand embarrassment or howl at the top of my lungs at the ridiculousness of it.

"Oh no, stop, stop!" Henry pleaded. "That is abysmal!" He shielded his eyes with his hand, but his distress was hard to buy because he was shaking with laughter.

"Come on, Henry. Do this. Do like this." Hope demoed her own variation on what was becoming a family theme, and Henry moaned,

"Not you too!"

In witnessing this candid camera-worthy scene I'd almost completely forgotten about Regina, until she announced her – and my – presence with a quiet but somehow piercing clearing of her throat. As we all turned to look at her, I saw that for once I wasn't the one with the sharpest sense of intruding. Regina looked as discomfited as I'd ever seen her. A good and caring mother she may well have been, but I had trouble picturing her throwing an impromptu dance party in her kitchen.

"Sorry to... interrupt."

For a brief instant the Joneses and Henry all froze as though attempting the mannequin challenge, and I watched the joy disappear from Emma's eyes like the breaking of a spell.

"Regina. Cassie. What's going on?"

"Nothing good."

It was astonishing how quickly they all sobered up.

"This may take a while," Regina prefaced, and so we all gathered around the kitchen table before Regina embarked on the story of what she and I had learned from Belle.

At the end of it all, Killian opened his mouth, but before he could get a word out, Regina said, "Let me guess. Bloody hell?"

Killian nodded. "Bloody hell."

"Bloody hell," Hope pronounced solemnly.

"Don't say that, Sweetheart," Emma told her daughter, as I did my best to muffle a laugh.

"Why?"

"Because it's not very nice." She cast a disapproving glance at her husband.

"Quite right," Killian agreed. "Sorry Love, won't happen again."

"Yeah, good luck with that," Henry muttered, as his stepdad flashed him a sly grin.

Emma took an audible breath. "So what are we going to do?"

"We? This is Gold's mess, not ours."

"Well, unfortunately he made it ours. If this town is stuck in a time warp again, that is a problem. And if he's not around to fix it, that leaves us."

"I already told you, Belle and I scoured the shop and we couldn't find a trace of whatever it was he did. It's going to be damn hard to make an antidote when we don't know the poison."

If Emma had a catchy comeback, we were never to learn it because Regina's phone rang in that instant, startling us all. She picked up and impatiently blurted her name while we all eavesdropped shamelessly, straining our ears for any information that might help us. Regina herself was unhelpfully laconic, and we all looked at her expectantly when she finally hung up a few minutes later. She was silent for several long and painful moments, her face opaque.

"That was Belle," she said eventually. "She decided to go have a look in the clock tower, and it turns out someone jammed the gears."

"Jammed the gears?" Emma repeated, as if she hadn't heard correctly.

"Yes."

"What, like with a spanner?" Killian asked.

"Exactly."

"So... the clock hasn't really stopped?" Henry looked from Regina to Emma and around at the rest of us as if to ascertain whether we were all thinking what he was thinking.

"Well, it has stopped, but not by magic. I'll get one of the dwarves on it. Should have it up and running again soon."

"Then we were right in the first place? There's no curse?" Emma eyed Regina as if she was almost afraid to hear the answer.

"There's no curse." I could feel myself breaking into a huge grin – an expression I saw mirrored in the faces of the people around me. Giddy with relief, Henry let out a strange bark of a laugh and stroked his little sister's hair, while Emma planted a series of kisses on her husband's cheek as he tried and failed to maintain his composure, cracking an uncharacteristically bashful smile within moments.

"I guess we all overreacted. _I_ overreacted," Regina corrected herself.

"Who could blame you?" Killian said. "After what we've been through in this bloody town..."

"Well, I must say I've never been so happy to be proven wrong."

"So it was all just smoke and mirrors? This whole thing?" I asked, trying to wrap my head around this latest conclusion.

"Not exactly. The barrier at the town line was real enough, and if we hadn't all had our wits about us – not to mention the bravery of you three," she nodded at Henry and his parents, "it could have caused us real trouble. And as for this clock business, I'd bet the entire contents of my vault we have Gold to thank for that too."

"Forget about him," Henry said, stopping the rising tide of anger that seemed to be sweeping over the faces of his parents at this reminder of the instigator. "His plan failed. The important thing is we're all safe. It's over."

Emma nodded, appreciatively. "You're right, Kid. We should celebrate." She looked around her as if reacquainting herself with her surroundings. The kitchen was the same, but even to me it seemed different, brighter after the latest revelation. Emma turned to her husband.

"We've got some wine in the cellar, right? And rum, of course."

"Always rum," he affirmed with a smirk.

Emma rose. "Good enough for a makeshift toast, I'd say. Regina, you should stay for dinner. It's just leftovers from yesterday, but you know what they say – tastes even better the next day, right?"

Regina smiled. "Thanks for the offer, but I should really be getting home to Zelena and Robin. They deserve to know we're in the clear."

I thought Emma would insist, but she merely nodded. Maybe she didn't want to stand in the way of any making up that might be on the horizon for the sisters.

"Perhaps you should call your parents, Love," Killian said to Emma as Regina readied herself to leave. "They'll want to know too."

"Good idea."

"I'll see you before we head out tomorrow, right?" Henry said to Regina. She smiled and kissed his forehead in a gesture made smooth and second-nature from obvious years of habit. "Of course. I'll go with Emma to drop you off, same as always."

"Night Mom."

"Goodnight Henry. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

The rest of us bid her goodnight in turn and Regina took her leave. I don't know why, but I was surprised to see it was already nearly dark outside. It had been the strangest day of my life, and now it was nearing its end. While I was as pleased as anyone to see the end of this chaos, part of me wasn't quite ready to return to ordinary life. Henry's parents had already started making noises to do with getting dinner ready, but despite not having touched a bite all day, I couldn't even think about food. I murmured something innocuous and beat what I thought was a subtle retreat to my room, but no sooner had I got there and turned on the light than Henry had joined me.

"Are you okay?" Was his first, cautious inquiry.

"I think so." He just looked at me. He didn't try to approach, just stood by the door and gazed at me with an expression I couldn't decipher. I thought about the words that had passed between us. There had been hurtful things said, of course, but all that I could think of right then was that he'd said he loved me. Too full of anger and pain at the time, I hadn't properly realized that he'd said it for the first time. And as I stood there, watching him watching me, I realized something else.

After several silent moments it became clear he wasn't going to make the first move, so I did.

"Henry, about earlier... I feel terrible. I had no right to say what I did. About you, about your family. What happened in the past is none of my business and I have no right to judge you or your parents or anyone. I'm really sorry."

"No Cassie, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking about the position I put you in. I brought you here without thinking what it would really mean. I put you in danger without ever asking your permission or warning you and I never should have done that. I should have told you the truth from the get-go."

"I wouldn't have believed you. You know I wouldn't have."

Henry sighed, but he didn't argue. He might have had the heart of the truest believer, but we both knew I had the heart of the truest skeptic.

"I don't blame you," I assured him. "I was angry before, and I'm sorry. I want you to know you can trust me. Whatever happens."

"I already know that. And I do – I do trust you."

I thought it would be harder, but the words slipped from my mouth like it was nothing. "So... do you forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive."

There's this weird thing that happens to me sometimes that doesn't initially make a lot of sense when I describe it, but I'm going to try anyway. Sometimes when I first start to cry (which fortunately isn't all that often, now that I'm past the angsty High School years, thank God!) there's this moment when the tears in my eyes act like contact lenses or something, and instead of making my vision blurry I can see everything more clearly than ever. It's only for a split-second, and then the world runs together and the tears fall and I give way to whatever emotion I'm grappling with and blah blah blah. But for that little instant – absolute clarity. Like high-definition, technicolor, crystal-clear perfection. A little moment of magic. That's what that moment in Henry's parents' guest room was like. I could see everything clearly and what the night before had been clouded by confusion and enigma was now plain as day. I knew Henry – really and truly knew him – and I knew that I loved him.

* * *

Dinner was about as normal as it could have been, given the circumstances. Despite my rude behavior to them earlier, Henry's parents treated me no differently, their attitude toward me marked by the same generosity that had characterized the rest of my stay with them. Perhaps they sensed that whatever had been amiss before was now gone, resolved, like the magical calamity that had put a temporary bump in our enjoyment of the holiday. Or maybe there was no sensing involved beyond the proof of their own eyes, because I confess that Henry and I could hardly keep our gazes off each other during the entirety of the meal. We even skipped out early on the pretext of swinging by his grandparents' place to say goodbye, just so we could spend the duration of a leisurely stroll in each other's company (a walk that managed to even stretch the definition of leisurely thanks to all the pauses for kisses under the streetlamps, sorry if that's TMI). Snow even texted Henry when we were about halfway there to make sure we were okay, she was so worried about how long we were taking, and that made us hustle the rest of the way. We wound up staying for pie and hot chocolate with Snow, David and Neal, and before our departure I practically had to promise I'd be back for a visit before long. I was even invited for Christmas, but I know I'd break my mother's heart if I changed the plans for my own homecoming, so I suggested maybe Spring Break, and from Henry's smile I gathered this would not meet with any disapproval. What a comfort it was that after my own crisis of acceptance, Henry's family had no similar lapse in their acceptance of me. Perhaps I was undeserving after the things I'd said about them, the feelings I'd harbored not hours ago, and there was a moment when I suddenly recalled Zelena's warning that ill inevitably befell those who became entangled in the dramas of Henry's family, but I quickly dismissed it and simply allowed myself to feel grateful. It was Thanksgiving, I was in love, and my love loved me.

Now it's well after midnight and I've finally finished packing my things. We're heading back to New York and making an early start tomorrow – well, today – and if I had any kind of sense I'd go to bed immediately, but I've got this letter to finish and of course it'll be hard to sleep, hard to settle my mind enough for rest. So much has happened while I've been here, more than I'd ever imagined in a town this small and seemingly quiet, but don't judge a book by its cover, right? Guess I'll try to remember that next time. I did wind up giving Henry the _Ever After_ manuscript from Belle, and he's asked me to read it too. Luckily he's got the file on his laptop so we don't have to lug that huge volume back to New York, but either way I'd be eager to get started. Now that he's let me into his world, I find myself wanting to know everything. Studying for finals is going to be extra hard with such a distraction, but somehow I'll find a way for both. I have to. By the way, Henry was considerably less reticent tonight than last night. After his parents and sister went to bed we both went to my room and no sooner was the door closed than he was there. He couldn't keep his hands off me, and in a strange switching of roles, for once it was me telling him to quiet down for fear of waking his parents. I guess all it takes for a little extra spice in the bedroom is a fake curse and a fight. Who knew? Maybe I'll bottle it and sell it and become a millionaire. Anyway, I really do need to stop rambling get to bed in a minute or two. Besides, my hand hurts like a you-know-what. Writing by hand should be an Olympic sport, don't you think? If it were I'd qualify! In the morning I'll stick this in Henry's parents' mailbox to go out on Monday morning so you'll be fully up-to-date when we see each other in a few weeks. Can you believe it's almost Christmas already? I can't. Can't wait to see you, Babe, so you can decide for yourself if I'm really as unhinged as this letter probably makes me out to be. Haha! Love you, Sweetie. Muah!


	6. Epilogue - Saturday

Epilogue - Saturday

Hey Chica!

I thought I'd surprise you with a piece of real, actual snail-mail. It's adorably old-fashioned, right? In all seriousness though, this should be a phone call, and it would have been except that I'm on a media fast until the end of the semester. It's going pretty well so far, though I sure could have used a distraction over the last few days. I've been with Henry and his family in middle-of-nowhere Maine over Thanksgiving break and I wish I had something interesting to report, but I really don't. I can't name a single thing from this holiday that you might call memorable. His family is nice enough and I think I made a good impression, but I really can't blame Henry for wanting to get the hell out of there and move to a city where things actually happen. Boring isn't a remotely descriptive enough word to describe his hometown, so here's hoping that next year we do Thanksgiving with my folks in Berkley or even do our own thing in New York. It's never too early to start making our own traditions, right? In case you hadn't already gathered, it's pretty serious between Henry and me now. Boring hometowns aside, he really is the sweetest guy and call me a hopeless romantic, but I'm starting to think he might be The One. Scary, I know! Bet you never thought you'd hear those words from my practical, down-to-earth ass, am I right? I'm trying to figure out the right moment to tell him – or ask him – about us, about how I feel, how he feels, but I want it to be right. It's not really the sort of thing you can just spring on a guy, and to be honest, Henry has been super quiet ever since we got on the bus this morning. If I didn't know better I'd even say he was brooding. There was one exception. For a few minutes, just after our bus left Portland, he decided to quiz me about our stay in Storybrooke, what I'd liked the best, what I thought of his family, etc. And then he went off on this weird rant about his coat – this faded old pea coat that he wears all the time and that I guess I borrowed a few times over the last couple days – and he all but begged me to put it on again. Like, he took it off right here on the bus, and would probably have dressed me like a mannequin if I hadn't objected so strongly. I mean, it's cute he's offering me his coat and everything, but I'm fine now, I don't need to wear it all the time, especially not on some overheated Greyhound. I actually told him to his face that he was being over-protective, and he just gave me the saddest and most remorseful look and told me that it was all his fault, that he hadn't been protective enough. Or maybe he said the protection hadn't worked and it was all his fault because I wasn't wearing the coat. I can't remember exactly, but either way, he was talking gibberish and that's when I told him to put his coat back on and sit down and try to get some rest, we'd both had an early morning and obviously the sleep-deprivation was getting to him.

I'm going to finish this up in a minute, but I just want to say I'm so excited to see you when we're both home for Christmas and hear all your news. Maybe by then I'll have an update on my own situation. In fact I'd better, because three weeks is plenty of time for me to work my courage up to have a serious conversation with Henry. It's possible it may even happen on this very bus. A few minutes ago Henry asked if I was finished yet, because apparently he has a story to tell me. This would probably make most people our age roll their eyes, but not me. As I learned very quickly from our Fairy Tales survey class, Henry tells the best stories, and if it turns out all his broody silence this morning was just this story percolating in his head, I figure I'm in for a treat. So big hugs to you, Chica, and good luck with finals. The time has come for me to sign off and ready myself for whatever this particular "Once Upon a Time" may bring.

XOXO,

Cassie


End file.
